


we don't need memories (but i'll remember you)

by soffeon



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Anal and Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Background Relationship - Miya Atsumu/Kozume Kenma, Dicks and Depression, M/M, Memory Loss, Post-Time Skip, Sexual Content, mentions of a car accident
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-15 18:36:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29563398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soffeon/pseuds/soffeon
Summary: An accident wipes 9 years from Akaashi Keiji's mind and he wakes up to find that he's married, not to Bokuto-san, but to Miya Osamu. It's not at all the future he imagined but he strives to make sense of it all by recalling lost memories."Miya-san, we don't just live together, do we?" Keiji asks, his voice rising."Keiji," Osamu starts gently, "We're-""Are we-""Married."All eyes are on Keiji as the color drains from his face. "I- I was going to say dating, Miya-san," he says in a startled murmur.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Miya Osamu
Comments: 58
Kudos: 231





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello. Here's a few notes about my first attempt at a chaptered fic:
> 
> \- It's set in a universe where Japan, and everywhere else for that matter, has legalized same-sex marriages. Homophobic views still exist, though it won't appear as a driving force in this story - there's plenty enough of angst as it is (at least, I think there is).  
> \- I love Bokuto. I adore him. He is not a villain in this story, but this will be about Osamu and Akaashi.  
> \- The latter tags are ridiculous and a product of a running joke in a HQ discord server I'm part of. "Sex and sad" are generally what I'm drawn to in fan content. That said, this story will have a happy ending for every character mentioned.  
> \- The story is already complete. It's just a matter of editing and finalizing some details I've been reviewing.  
> \- Come say hi on [twitter!](https://twitter.com/soffeon)

Osamu wakes up to the earsplitting sound of his cell phone. The shrill tone is intentionally deafening on his part to ensure it rouses him no matter how deep his slumber, and he fumbles for the device.  
  
"Ello?" his voice is hoarse but his bloodshot eyes are wide open.  
  
"Osamu, come quick. Our Keiji woke up," the calming voice of his mother-in-law gets him moving.  
  
"I'm on the way."  
  
He ignores the sudden disorientation from standing so quickly and stumbles out of the room, finding his twin neck-deep in his refrigerator.  
  
"Oi! Quit stealing my food and move yer ass! Keiji woke up!"  
  
Atsumu's head pops out, a single spoon dangling from his mouth, one hand holding on the refrigerator's door and the other a pint of Osamu's pudding.  
  
"Oh shit, _'Samu_ ".  
  
The blond shuts the fridge and disposes of his leftovers, striding towards Osamu and crushes him in a hug.  
  
"He's okay," Osamu whispers shakily, clinging onto his brother, "Keiji's okay."  
  
"I told ya he would be," Atsumu grins, rubbing Osamu's back. "Let's go see yer husband."  
  


* * *

  
Osamu speeds through the hospital corridors, hastily acknowledging the nods he gets from the nurses who are by now well acquainted with his face. They are smiling at him with a knowing look and it only makes Osamu’s heart speed up and his desire to see Keiji heightens.  
  
He finds Bokuto and Kenma standing outside Keiji's room and before he can say a word, Bokuto yells, "MYAAAAAA-SAM! HEY HEY HEY!"  
  
Kenma winces beside Bokuto and the twins slow down to a jog. Atsumu gestures for Bokuto to use his indoor voice. "Bokkun, don't get us kicked out now, hmm? The man of the hour has yet to see Keiji-kun."  
  
While Osamu internally agrees with his twin, he can't help but envelop Bokuto in a hug when they reach them. Bokuto's eyes are rimmed red from crying and Osamu knows Keiji's accident has been hard on him too. While their break up had been devastating for them when Keiji was in college, the two recovered their friendship and it's one that Osamu knows his husband highly values. Bokuto, Atsumu, and his in-laws have been there for Osamu throughout the week Keiji had been unconscious. If it weren't for them, Osamu would have drowned under the ocean of stress not three minutes after the accident.  
  
"Myaa-sam," Bokuto says as they pull away, grinning hard. Osamu easily returns the grin and reaches for Kenma, who surprisingly accepts the hug from his brother-in-law without a fuss.  
  
"Keiji's parents are inside," Kenma begins, moving towards Atsumu. "The doctor's just talking to them and he told us to wait for a few minutes."  
  
Osamu nods and breaks out in a chuckle. "I can't thank all of ya enough for bein' here."  
  
"Eh Myaa-sam, you really needed to go home, you know?" Bokuto reminds him. "You need to eat and rest to welcome Akaashi back properly."  
  
"Ya needed to shower too, ya pig," Atsumu chimes in. Osamu shoves his twin lightly, his mood too good to bite into Atsumu's teasing. He looks at the window to Keiji's room where he could see Doctor Nakamura and his in-laws standing over Keiji's bed. Keiji is sitting propped up on some pillows but his face is obscured by his dad's form. It makes Osamu even more impatient and he taps his foot and crosses his arms, turning back to Atsumu.  
  
"Trust Keiji ta wake up when I’m not here,” he said, shaking his head. “He couldn’t have chosen a time when I was sittin' vigil by his bedside? Now he'll pout about wakin' up without me around.”  
  
"You're looking forward to spoiling him, aren't you?" Kenma asks.  
  
"Of course," Osamu smirks.  
  
Osamu is just about to ignore the doctor’s request and barge into Keiji’s room when the door opens and both his in-laws step out. The look on Keiji's mom's face makes Osamu’s grin waver and his stomach clench. “What’s wrong?”  
  
“Keiji’s fine,” Akaashi Benjiro says but his brow is still creased. “He’s just – he uh.”   
  
“Otoosan, what is it?” Osamu pleads.   
  
Benjiro looks at him hesitantly and turns to his wife. Akaashi Keiko steps forward and places a hand on Osamu's shoulder. “He seems to have lost some memories.”   
  
“How much?” Osamu asks quietly.   
  
Keiko takes a deep breath. “Keiji thinks he’s twenty.”  
  
Osamu staggers back as if someone has punched him in the gut. “You mean he – he doesn’t remember _at all_?”   
  
Keiko's answer is interrupted by Doctor Nakamura walking out. He gives them all a polite smile before saying, “He’s asking for a Bokuto-san.”  
  
Osamu feels tears welling up in his eyes, hot and stinging. Bokuto meets his gaze looking panicked and slightly guilty but he walks past the doctor into the room where Keiji is waiting for him. Osamu is vaguely aware of Keiko reaching for his hand and the doctor explaining how memory loss is sometimes common amongst head injury victims but all Osamu can think of is Keiji inside the hospital room. A Keiji who probably doesn't even care that Osamu is standing outside desperate to see him, a Keiji who still thought he was twenty, at the peak of his love for Bokuto and nothing for Osamu.  
  
“Mr. Miya, I understand this is difficult to process-”  
  
“Yer fucking right it’s hard!” Osamu snaps, his whole body shaking. “My husband just had nine years of his memory wiped clean!”  
  
“Mr. Miya, please. This is a hospital. You need to-”   
  
“Shut yer trap and don’t tell me what I _need_ to do-”  
  
“Osamu, take a deep breath,” Benjiro says, reaching for Osamu’s arm. Osamu looks at Benjiro and Keiko and sees the sympathy and understanding in their eyes. They know. They know exactly what this situation means for Osamu.  
  
“Keiji seems stable for the time being, we’re going to run some tests and keep him here for maybe a night or two more just to make sure everything’s fine.” Doctor Nakamura says once Osamu has taken three shaky breaths. “The memory loss is by no means permanent,” he says gently, looking straight at Osamu. “There’s more than a ninety percent chance that he’ll recover his memories over time. You just need to find the right prompt. But until then, try and take things slowly. It can be overwhelming to find out that you’ve missed nine years of your life. It’s hard for the families but it’s equally hard, if not more, for the patient.”  
  
Osamu nods, lips pressed together. “Can I go see him?” he asks, forcing his voice to remain steady.   
  
“Of course, just remember to be gentle.”  
  
Osamu frowns. “By gentle ya mean...” he trails off, narrowing his eyes when his in-laws and Doctor Nakamura exchanges a look. “Shit.” Osamu says, turning away from the looks of pity from Atsumu and Kenma as he fights back more tears. “So I’m not even allowed to tell him that I’m his husband?”  
  
“All Doctor Nakamura means here, is that dropping quite the bomb on Keiji isn’t the wisest thing to do," Keiko says. “Take it slow, just for now.”  
  
Osamu closes his eyes and takes another deep breath. He can stand here and keep arguing but he desperately wants to see Keiji. “Sure,” he says. “I'll do that.”   
  
The second his hand closes on the doorknob of Keiji’s room, his heart starts beating wildly in his chest. Neither of the room’s occupants notices him enter and Osamu takes advantage of the fact to just take in the sight of Keiji. _He’s alive. He’s okay._   
  
Keiji and Bokuto’s hands are twined together on the bed between them. Osamu wouldn't have thought about it twice but knowing that right now, Keiji in his mind is madly in love with Bokuto, the gesture feels like a stab to Osamu’s heart.  
  
The knife is twisted when Osamu realizes that Keiji is looking at Bokuto the way Keiji looks at _him.  
  
_ Keiji finally catches sight of him standing there and frowns. “Miya-san?” The sound of Keji using his last name with an honorific after so long almost breaks him right then and there but Osamu forces himself to remain calm for Keiji’s sake.   
  
Bokuto turns around at the mention of his name and Osamu notices how he discreetly pulls his hand away from Keiji’s.   
  
“Why are you here?” Keiji asks.   
  
“Ta see ya,” Osamu simplifies.  
  
“Oh.” Keiji pauses, “Wait. Were you a witness in my accident?”   
  
“Ah, no.” Osamu says, walking up to stand beside where Bokuto is sitting. “Do ya think that's the only reason I'd be here?”   
  
“What other reason would you have to come see me, Miya-san?” Keiji asks and Osamu can see how genuinely perplexed his husband is at the sight of him.  
  
Osamu swallows the lump in his throat. “In the future - _shit_ that sounds dumb,” he says, his body starting to quiver again. He rubs his forehead with his palm, catching the cold sweat beading there before he forces a smile on his face. “Yer a lot friendlier to me, as am I to ya.”  
  
“I’ll go call Kuroo.” Bokuto says suddenly, standing up. “The rooster head wasn't picking up earlier. He’ll want to know Keiji’s awake.”   
  
Osamu raises a brow. Kuroo already knows. He had called during the drive over to the hospital and let Osamu know how glad he was when Bokuto told him the news. There is no way Kuroo doesn’t know. Osamu couldn’t stop a small, grateful smile from spreading across his face when he realizes Bokuto is using the excuse to give him and Keiji some time alone.   
  
“B-bokuto-san, please stay,” Keiji begs, grabbing Bokuto’s wrist. Bokuto hesitates but gently pulls himself free of Keiji’s grip. “I'll be back, Akaashi,” he says softly.  
  
Osamu waits until the door shuts behind Bokuto to take his vacated seat next to the bed. Keiji is looking at him curiously. “How are ya feelin'?” Osamu asks, resisting the urge to reach out and take Keiji’s hand like Bokuto had.  
  
“Confused," Keiji shares. “Are we friends, Miya-san?”   
  
“You could say that,” Osamu responds, unable to hide the sadness in his voice.  
  
"Oh, well I'm flattered you took the time out of your day to be here, Miya-san," Keiji says.  
  
He'd been here every single day since the accident, only going home earlier in the morning today when Atsumu dragged him to eat something that didn't come from the hospital's vending machine, nap, and shower. Osamu clenches his jaw and reminds himself that Keiji's awake, he didn't lose his husband, and is right next to him. He watches him fumble with his fingers laying on the bed, shoulders stiff against the pillows. Keiji won't look up to meet his eyes.  
  
"I- I can't remember anything," Keiji admits, his voice small and terrified. Osamu moves to hold his hand and Keiji pulls away. Osamu tried to stop the hurt from showing on his face.  
  
"Don't pressure yerself too much, Keiji," Osamu says before he could stop the words from spilling out. Keiji frowns at Osamu, clearly perturbed to hear his given name and with a face that wants to know just how Osamu can tell Keiji is currently wading through a thick fog in his mind, unable to see past his own hands.  
  
"Miya-san, I'd like to be with my parents now, if you will."  
  


* * *

  
Osamu stays at the hospital while the doctors run more tests. He takes a seat at the far end of the waiting room, dodges Atsumu's questions, and listens to Bokuto apologize over and over until Kenma finally snaps and asks him to stop; it isn't his fault that Keiji has lost his memory and that he is still helplessly in love with Bokuto.  
  
He keeps twisting the wedding band on his finger, as if twisting it enough would turn the clocks in Keiji’s mind back to the current time and make him remember everything.  
  
It's a cruel joke. All of it. That Keiji would forget the precise years where he and Osamu had developed a close friendship, fell in love, and decided to stay together other until death do them part. That he would rewind back to a time where Osamu was just another volleyball player he faced in their third year.  
  
Osamu isn't aware that he is crying, not until he feels a hand on his shaking back and looks up to see Bokuto looking at him with glassy eyes.   
  
Osamu doesn’t want to be around him at the moment, can't bear to look at him without thinking of how Keiji sees him. But he can’t help himself from leaning against him either. He lays his head on Bokuto’s shoulder and lets his tears continue to fall silently.  
  
Benjiro and Keiko come out after a while and tell Bokuto that Keiji is asking for him again. Bokuto gives Osamu another guilty look (he is starting to get really aggravated by them) before he leaves. Osamu doesn’t miss the way his steps are brisk, impatient to see his best friend. If Osamu isn't being forced to stay in the waiting room with a cup of the hospital’s cheap coffee, he would have smiled at the memory of Bokuto's trademark greeting, earning him a fond sigh from Keiji.  
  
"How is he?" Osamu asks as Benjiro sits down beside him. He looks tired, his stubble flecked with specks of white and his eyes watery either from crying or lack of sleep.   
  
“He’s fine, still a little woozy from the meds." Keiko answers for him, taking the seat on his other side. "Has a lot of questions. Told him we would answer all of them once the doctor finishes their stupid tests.”  
  
“Did he ask about me?” Osamu asks in a hopeful voice.  
  
Benjiro gives him a sympathetic look. “He asked us if we know you enough to be here.”   
  
“What did ya say?”  
  
"That he will find out from you, eventually," says Benjiro, slumping his shoulders.  
  
"Wait 'til he finds out that you're married," Keiko whispers.  
  
Osamu puts his head in his hands. "I can't believe Keiji remembers nothin'."   
  
"You’re handling this better than anyone I know could under the same circumstances," Keiko says. “I can’t imagine how badly you must want to be with him right now.”  
  
Osamu is quiet for a moment. His mother-in-law is right; nobody can imagine the pain Osamu is going through. Doctor Nakamura steps out and approaches them.  
  
“Break things down slowly,” Doctor Nakamura begins. “Have someone he trusts answer his questions,” he looks at Osamu with a smile.  
  
A smile Osamu can't return because the doctor means someone other than _him_.  
  
The doctor knows Osamu as Keiji's husband, he doesn't know that the Keiji sitting inside the room is in love with someone else. Benjiro and Keiko follow Doctor Nakamura as he leads them to sign more paperwork.  
  
"Samu?" Atsumu comes forward as Osamu stands up, unable to stop the tears from rolling down his cheeks when he looks at his brother.  
  
“He’s _my husband_ , 'Tsumu! I was the one they called after the accident, I was the one who held his hand every night and begged him to come back to me. _I_ should be the one he asks for not -” Not Bokuto. Osamu takes a shuddering breath. “I feel like I saw him more when he was unconscious.”   
  
Osamu feels guilt wash through him in waves when a voice in his head says that he would rather have Keiji unconscious if it means he gets to see him again, touch him again, whisper everything he would only ever tell Keiji.  
  
Bokuto comes out of Keiji’s room twenty minutes before the visiting hours end. “Come on,” Atsumu tells Kenma, “Let's bring him home.”   
  
“What? No. I’m family. I’m stayin'.”   
  
“Osamu, you’re exhausted and-” Kenma hesitates.   
  
“And Keiji couldn’t care less if I stay, right?” Osamu asks in a bitter voice. “So might as well go home and have a good night’s sleep while my husband goes on wonderin' what the hell I was doin' here.”  
  
Bokuto stands next to Osamu. “Akaashi's parents will talk to him tonight,” he says. “Once he’s got the basics down, it’ll be easier for him to process everything else.”  
  
“I know Bokkun, I heard the doctor.” Osamu knows he's being a dick right now but he can’t bring himself to care. When he looks at Bokuto, Atsumu and Kenma standing silently beside him, and sees only understanding in their gazes, he sighs. “Sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “Yer all only trying to help-”  
  
"We know, 'Samu," Atsumu says gently. "Ya don't need to apologize. If ya wanna stay, I can't stop ya. But I'm askin' ya to let us take ya home."  
  
"The stress and exhaustion won't help you, or Keiji," Kenma adds.  
  
Osamu nods. "Yer right. Just wish I could see him one more time tonight." He looks at the door to Keiji's room with longing, missing the way Bokuto lights up with mischief.  
  
"Myaa-sam, you left your jacket inside."  
  
Osamu regards Bokuto's attire, giving him a deadpan look as he says, "It's yer jacket, Bokkun."  
  
"Noooo, its your jacket, Myaa-sam," Bokuto grins. Osamu feels irritation bubbling inside him, why is Bokuto smiling - oh.  
  
"Yer the best, Bokkun," Osamu grins back.  
  


* * *

  
Keiji looks up expectantly, his features shifting to one of surprise before giving a polite smile when Osamu reenters the room.  
  
It's not the smile Osamu's used to. Instead of the smile Keiji gives him when they come home to each other after work, or when Keiji walked in on the opening night of his Onigiri Miya Tokyo branch, the smile Keiji gives him now is the same one he gave Osamu when he caught him staring in their third year at Nationals many moons ago.  
  
"Hello again, Miya-san. I'm surprised you haven't gone home."  
  
"Left my jacket," Osamu gestures towards the garment, spotting it draped over the foot of Keiji's bed.  
  
"I believe that's Bokuto-san's jacket, Miya-san."  
  
Shit. Being woozy from medicine doesn't stop his husband's keen sense. Osamu would know.  
  
"Ah, right. I uh- I gave that to him. It was mine, just makin' sure he gets it back."  
  
"That's.. kind of you, Miya-san. I'm sure my boyfriend will thank you for this."  
  
He swallows the lump in his throat and breathes in deep. "Feelin' any better?" he asks instead of ripping the jacket in half.  
  
Keiji pouts. "I suppose so, given the circumstances. I'm tired and- and they're not telling me anything."  
  
"What do ya know so far?"  
  
"I was in a car accident. I'm twenty nine and I live in Osaka. I- I was in a coma for a week."  
  
Osamu watches his husband twiddle his fingers for a moment. "Yer free to ask me if ya wanna know more, Keiji."  
  
Keiji opens his mouth slightly, and Osamu can almost hear the plethora of questions beginning to manifest rapidly in Keiji's eyes.  
  
"But no details."  
  
Keiji hesitates, pondering his choices. "I accept your terms, Miya-san. May I begin with asking why you call me Keiji?"  
  
"Because ya call me Osamu," he answers cheekily, enjoying the flush of red appearing on Keiji's features.  
  
"I- I don't think I can. I apologize, Miya-san."  
  
"Don't sweat it, ya will eventually."  
  
"You're rather sure of yourself."  
  
"That all ya wanna ask me, Keiji-kun?"  
  
"Why are we in Osaka, _Miya-san?_ " Keiji asks, emphasizing his family name.  
  
"We live here."  
  
"Yes, Miya-san, my parents already told me I live here. Will you tell me why?"  
  
"Details."  
  
Keiji pouts again, and Osamu wishes he could kiss it away.  
  
"Are ya hungry?" Osamu asks, "I can ask if yer in the clear to have something to eat."  
  
"I'm tired," Keiji exhales, "And sleepy, Miya-san."  
  
Osamu nods, taking his cue. He picks up Bokuto's jacket and lingers for a moment, waiting to see if Keiji might say anything else. He doesn't, and Osamu sighs, heading towards the door. He stops and turns back to see Keiji fiddling with his fingers once more.  
  
"Goodnight, Keiji," Osamu says in a quiet voice.  
  
Keiji doesn't respond, just like he hasn't for every night the past week. Nothing new.


	2. Chapter 2

Osamu finds his in-laws waiting for him outside Keiji's room and tries to wipe his face the second he meets their eyes.  
  
They still catch the tear tracks on his cheeks.  
  
"Otoosan, okaasan, I just went an' got Bokkun's jacket-"  
  
"You wanted to see Keiji, we know," Benjiro finishes for him. Osamu stills and nods. "You need some rest, Osamu."  
  
"Tsumu an' Kenma said they'll take me home, but I don't mind staying in the waitin' room. I'll wait for Keiji to fall asleep and sneak in, then I'll leave before he wakes up."  
  
Benjiro and Keiko exchange crestfallen looks. They step forward and usher Osamu to walk with them. "Try to get more sleep, Osamu," Keiko assuages him. "Come back tomorrow, Keiji can hear more about you two then."  
  
"He asked me why I call him Keiji," Osamu admits.  
  
"Oh, so does he know that-"  
  
"No, I haven't. He's not ready. Still thinks Bokkun is his boyfriend an' all."  
  
No more words are said as they walk towards the hospital's exit, where Atsumu and Kenma are waiting in Osamu's car.  
  


* * *

  
Keiji blinks at the sound of footsteps, half-expecting to see Miya Osamu again. He sighs in relief when he sees his parents instead.  
  
"Okaaan, otoosan, I'm glad it's you two."  
  
"Who did you think it would be, Keiji?" his mother asks conspiratorially.  
  
"There's a man," Keiji sighs, "He's... very friendly. One of the volleyball twins from high school."  
  
"Oh? And is he the reason for that blush, Keiji?" Benjiro laughs at Keiji's distraught face. Keiko elbows her husband discreetly but is unable to keep from turning the corners of her lips upwards.  
  
"Otoosan, please, when will you start telling me things?"  
  
"Now, Keiji, but we have some rules," Keiko answers for her husband.  
  
"Let me guess, no details?" Keiji asks, crossing his arms.  
  
"You can ask us for those, Keiji-chan, but we get to decide which ones we'll give you," Keiko says, fondness lining her voice.  
  
Before Keiji can protest, his dad interjects, "If we think the answer will be too complicated, we'll agree on moving on to the next question. Okay?"  
  
Keiji nods.  
  
"Ask away," Benjiro says, reaching for Keiji's hands and unclasping them for him to hold.  
  
"Do you live here in Osaka, too?"  
  
"No, we still live in Tokyo," Keiko informs him, and they could see the panic in Keiji's eyes at the realization. "But we see each other a lot," Benjiro eases for him.  
  
Keiji is quiet for a moment. "Am I working in literature here in Osaka?"  
  
"You're working here in Osaka, yes," Benjiro says proudly.  
  
"In literature?"  
  
"No, Keiji-chan," Keiko reveals. "You're an editor-in-chief of a company that houses shonen magazines."  
  
"One of the best, too, considering how young you are," his dad points out.  
  
His dad's praises fall on deaf ears. Keiji feels anything but young having skipped 9 years while remembering nothing. Was he not good enough for literature? Or did he scare himself from applying into his dream job? He was set on working only in literature at twenty. Has he not come near it at all at twenty nine?  
  
"Osa- but we hear that you write on your own time," Benjiro says, clearing his throat. Keiko purses her lips at her husband, and they feel a mix of confusing emotions twist in their stomachs. It's comforting to see Keiji smile after his dad shares that he writes but it disappears as quickly as it came. Keiji is too caught up in his desire to figure out the events of the past.  
  
"Where do I live?"  
  
"A very nice, spacious apartment," Benjiro grins. "You'll see it when we take you home."  
  
"Do I live alone?"  
  
"No," Keiko admits cautiously.  
  
Keiji looks away. "Do I live with Bokuto-san?" he asks, a blush creeping on his face.  
  
"No," Keiko says again, not missing how Keiji's face fell.  
  
"Oh, I see," Keiji says a little sadly. "I have a roommate?" Keiji asks.  
  
"Sort of... I guess, he is, in a way," Benjiro says slowly.  
  
"Who is he? Have you met him?" Keiji asks.  
  
"Next question," Keiko smiles. Keiji frowns but decides not to linger on the topic. He'll meet his roommate sooner than later.  
  
His parents continue answering his questions patiently, ranging from the most frivolous things to ones that make their hearts ache. Benjiro and Keiko manage to steer clear from anything related to Osamu, honoring their son-in-law's request of leaving their reintroduction to him. Keiji's eyes begin to droop as he listens to one of his dad's many stories and the two help Keiji settle into a more comfortable position to sleep.  
  


* * *

  
Keiji’s morning consists of nurses taking his blood pressure and Doctor Nakamura checking up on him and telling him that if things continue to look as good as they do, he can go home later that night. Breakfast is bland and tasteless due to the multitude of medications and the morning only starts to brighten when Bokuto arrives.  
  
"Akaashiiii! Hey hey hey!" Bokuto's voice is considerably muted compared to when he greeted Osamu yesterday but it's all Keiji can hear.  
  
"Bokuto-san," Keiji greets cheerfully, pushing away the rest of his breakfast tray. "Hi Akaashis!" Bokuto waves at Keiji's parents sheepishly when he spots them near the window. They smile and stand up, but look at Bokuto with a silent question. Bokuto immediately deflates and nods. "Keiji-chan, we'll fetch some coffee. Bokuto will keep you company," his mother tells him.  
  
Keiji watches them leave and wonders why, for the first time, he feels as though he'd rather have his parents around as his boyfriend visits him.  
  
"How are you? Did you sleep well?" Bokuto launches immediately, sitting at the foot of Keiji's bed. Too far for Keiji's liking.  
  
"I slept fine, or as fine as I can, thank you for asking, Bokuto-san," Keiji says with a twinkle.  
  
"Your parents told you more last night?" Bokuto asks.  
  
"Yes, Bokuto-san. They told me I have a roommate. Do you know him?"  
  
"He's coming to pick you up," Bokuto shares with delight.  
  
"I've been wondering about him," Keiji confesses, "Your roommate wakes up from a coma, the least they can do is visit."  
  
Bokuto is silent and Keiji takes the opportunity to study him. Now that he feels more awake, he can see how the years have changed him. He's taller, Keiji is sure of that, and his shoulders, arms, and chest are broader. He fills in the light gray t-shirt easily, muscles accentuated by the tight fit. Even covered by loose, black sweatpants, he can imagine the many hours Bokuto spends at the gym for his thighs to resemble tree branches.  
  
Bokuto's hair is still dyed, styled upwards but a little shorter. He looks good.  
  
Keiji doesn't realize how hard he is staring until Bokuto tilts his head, asking him, "Are you okay, Akaashi?"  
  
His cheeks flush and Keiji swiftly shakes his head. "It's nothing, Bokuto-san. The years have been kind to you."  
  
Keiji doesn't miss the way Bokuto shifts, looking uncomfortable. It starts to bother Keiji when he realizes Bokuto isn't embarrassed. "What's wrong?" Keiji asks.  
  
"Akaashi, there's something I need to tell you," Bokuto says in a low voice.  
  
Something akin to worry starts to churn in Keiji's stomach but he has to ask, "Bokuto-san, what is it?"  
  
There is a pause where Bokuto just stares at him, and Keiji can feel his nerves igniting and trickling through him until Bokuto takes a deep breath and says, "Akaashi, we're not together anymore."  
  
Neither of them say anything. Keiji blinks and Bokuto holds his breath as his words settle around them, sinking into Keiji's reality - this reality.  
  
"B-bokuto-san? What do you mean?" Keiji finally manages to ask.  
  
"We broke up when you were in college," Bokuto says gently. Keiji takes a a couple of shaky breaths, looking away from Bokuto and clutching at the hospital sheets. He feels stupid, referring to Bokuto as his boyfriend to his own parents, to Miya Osamu, without once thinking that a lot can change between them in nine years. He can't imagine their break up.  
  
Keiji blinks tears away, refusing to let Bokuto see. "Are you seeing someone else?" he asks.  
  
Bokuto scratches the back of his head, "There's someone I like." Bokuto observes how Keiji closes his eyes at his words.  
  
"We're best friends, Akaashi. We're still best friends. That hasn't changed." Bokuto reaches for Keiji's hands and unlike the other times that he let Bokuto take it since he woke up, he pulls away.  
  
"I- I think you should leave."  
  
Bokuto looks down, forlorn when he says, "I'm so sorry, Akaashi."  
  
"I am, too," Keiji says, unable to meet his eyes.  
  
"I'll see you soon?" it's phrased as a question, as if Bokuto is unsure if Keiji would want to see him.  
  
Keiji finally looks up at the warm, familiar face of the boy he is achingly in love with. His best friend. His first boyfriend. His first love. His star.  
  
"Soon, Bokuto-san."  
  


* * *

  
"Miya-san? You're here again?" Keiji asks when Osamu steps inside after they take his breakfast tray away.  
  
"I brought ya flowers," Osamu grins, holding up a selection he picked himself.  
  
Keiji looks irritated, not flattered, and he musters every fiber into being as polite as he can be, "I appreciate the gesture, Miya-san, but this isn't a good time."  
  
Osamu doesn't flinch. He had spent a sleepless night alone in their bed, counting the minutes to when he could see Keiji again. He's not about to leave a few seconds in.  
  
"Didja eat well? he asks, ignoring Keiji's foul mood.  
  
"Miya-san, _please_ , not a good time," Keiji repeats.  
  
"It's a yes or no question, Keiji-kun," Osamu says.  
  
"Please leave, Miya-san."  
  
"What's wrong? You can talk to me," Osamu tries. He knows what's wrong. He and Bokuto had agreed last night that Bokuto would break the news to Keiji after Keiji has his breakfast. Osamu knows why Keiji is upset, but he doesn't have the luxury to give Keiji time to come to terms with not being with Bokuto. He met Doctor Nakamura earlier and was told that Keiji was cleared to go home by tonight - there's no conceivable way for him to keep their relationship from Keiji any longer. He steps closer and tries again. "Please?"  
  
"Miya-san, people have said that your twin is the abrasive, obnoxious Miya. There's no need to prove them wrong."  
  
"I'm just askin' a question. I want to help."  
  
"You can't. Leave. Please."  
  
"No."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"I just got here."  
  
Keiji scowls at him, sighing as Osamu refuses to budge. "I liked you better when I was medicated."  
  
"Well, ya need to learn how to like me sober," Osamu says, occupying the chair next to the bed.  
  
Curiosity gets the better of Keiji, turning to Osamu despite not wanting to face him. "Why?"  
  
Osamu smiles, content to have Keiji simply look his way. "Because we live together."  
  


* * *

  
Keiji remains befuddled for the rest of the day. His parents come back, offering Osamu a paper cup of coffee they bought outside the hospital, and Keiji questions them.  
  
"Why didn't you just tell me Miya-san is my roommate?" he snaps, forgetting to lace his voice with his usual indifference.  
  
"Why are you upset, Keiji-chan?" Keiko throws back at him, hiding her smile behind her own paper cup of coffee.  
  
"Because he could have been telling me more about what my life is like, and all he does is ask me how I am," Keiji indignantly says, as if Osamu wasn't in the room, next to his dad. He stops himself from crossing his arms. He refuses to be a child in front of his parents, not when he's apparently almost 30.  
  
"We have a gorgeous place. Lots of natural light-" Osamu begins. Keiji isn't looking at him, staring at the window instead, but he knows his husband is hanging on to every word. "Ya put yerself in charge of decoratin'. I just carried what ya asked me to-"  
  
"Your narrative paints it as if you like me, Miya-san."  
  
Osamu smirks.  
  
"And if I do?"  
  
Astonished by the sound of his own parents laughing at Osamu's shamelessness, Keiji crosses his arms.  
  


* * *

  
Osamu takes care of the rest of the paperwork when Keiji is discharged. His dad holds his hand as they exit his room and walk towards Osamu. They reach the nurses' station and his eyes narrow at Osamu diligently signing papers away, looking at his dad in question. Benjiro shrugs and smiles, squeezing his hand.  
  
Keiji's dressed in a shirt he doesn't recognize, a simple black t-shirt with a tiny onigiri embedded by the breast pocket's area. Osamu handed it to him earlier, along with loose, charcoal black sweat shorts. Keiji decides that for all of Osamu's stubbornness, the man probably respected his space in their apartment enough to dig into his own closet instead of Keiji's - both garments felt too loose for him. Osamu towered over him only by a bit but his frame was definitely much wider than Keiji's.  
  
They wait for Osamu to finish and Keiji takes this moment to assess the person he lives with.  
  
There's not a trace of doubt in his mind that Osamu goes to the gym. Wide shoulders block whoever Osamu is speaking to in front of him, and they descend to a narrow waist. Osamu shifts from one leg to another, accentuating his ass behind blue, athletic shorts. He gathers the remaining papers in his large hands and when he hands them over to the nearest nurse, Keiji feels the heat crawl up his neck like a ball python. Osamu obviously isn't flexing, how on earth are his arms bulging that way?  
  
He remembers that his mother is right next to him and he finds her staring at him, giving him a knowing look.  
  
Keiji looks away. So he has a type. Sue him.  
  
Osamu turns, razor-sharp jaw cutting through air and cloudy grey eyes lock instantly on him. "Ready to go home?"  
  
Keiji walks ahead of his parents when they get to the hospital's parking area, standing vigil by the door of the backseat. Osamu says nothing and unlocks the vehicle, leaving Keiji's dad to ride in front next to his son-in-law.  
  
The drive back is silent. While Osamu can only catch glimpses, he can see Keiji look out the window in the backseat and take in the view in awe. The late afternoon light envelops the shopping districts and markets in the heart of Namba City, creating a cacophony of colors that reflect in Keiji's wide eyes. Keiji had only visited the Kansai region once with his parents, and even with a million thoughts running in his mind, his excitement is palpable enough to infect Osamu. Their gazes meet in the rearview mirror and Osamu grins, earning him a subdued smile from Keiji.  
  
Driving further north after they cross Namba Station, they leave behind the exuberant carousel of bright lights as more and more newly constructed residential apartments come into view. Their surroundings are serene but Keiji's heart begins to race. Without knowing how, he's sure that they're almost home.  
  
A huge apartment complex comes into view as the car slows down, and Keiji is unable to keep his face off of the window.  
  
Their apartment is on the fifth floor. The timorous editor stands in front of their door, rooted on the spot. Osamu isn't in a better position next to him.  
  
This is it. There is no way to hide their marriage as soon as Keiji walks in. The framed photographs of the two of them in their wedding are the first thing people notice, hung up on the wall concealing the view to most of their living room. Keiji's wedding ring feels heavy in Osamu's pocket; he kept it along with the rest of Keiji's possessions that were found on him after the accident. Osamu decided to keep the ring until Keiji was ready to wear it again.  
  
He doesn't know when that is.  
  
Osamu turns the key in the lock with shaky hands, turning his head as he plasters a tentative grin. "Welcome home." He steps aside and watches Keiji's face as his husband enters their apartment.  
  
Keiji's eyes sweep over the apartment in silence; from the entranceway cutting to the living room, and what little he can make of the hallway that leads to the bedrooms. Keiji blinks and turns to Osamu, who was waiting with bated breath.  
  
"How can we afford this, Miya-san?"  
  
The questions earns them a chuckle from Keiji's mom standing behind them. His dad is grinning at them, sliding an arm around his wife.  
  
"Eh," Osamu shrugs, "We get by pretty well. Business is great and yer a fantastic editor."  
  
"Wow.." Keiji whispers, the air of indifference that Osamu is used to from teenage and early 20s-Keiji long gone. Shining eyes and parted lips sweep across the space again, and it takes Osamu a moment to realize why Keiji isn't red - he hasn't noticed the pictures on the wall.  
  
As if he had just read Osamu's mind, Keiji drags his eyes to the framed photographs. The first captures them with their arms around each other, beaming at the camera. The second, in black and white, has Osamu leaning his forehead on Keiji's, clearly in the middle of a dance with their eyes closed. The third has Osamu grinning as he kisses Keiji's cheek, and Keiji is flushed crimson from either dancing, or the alcohol, or from Osamu.  
  
Osamu watches as Keiji begins to match how red he is on the third photo.  
  
"W-who's wedding were we in?" Keiji manages to blurt out, turning to Osamu and his parents with panic.  
  
It makes Osamu think of how adorably odd his husband is, but he sets that aside to marvel at how Keiji could miss what's right in front of him.  
  
"Miya-san, we don't just live together, do we?" Keiji asks, his voice rising.  
  
"Keiji," Osamu starts gently, "We're-"  
  
"Are we-"  
  
"Married."  
  
All eyes are on Keiji as the color drains from his face. "I- I was going to say dating, Miya-san," he says in a startled murmur.  
  
Osamu stares until Keiji breaks eye contact with him, and he turns to his in-laws with pleading eyes. "Come, Keiji, let's sit," Benjiro says, whisking Keiji further into the apartment and settling down beside him on the couch. He beckons Osamu to sit beside Keiji and Osamu all but complies.  
  
"Keiji, what's on your mind?" Keiko begins, sitting on the coffee table in front of the couch.  
  
"I-" Keiji chokes out, tears gathering in his eyes, clinging to the corner of long, black lashes, "I can't be married. N- not yet."  
  
"Why not?" Osamu asks, clenching his fists in an attempt to stop himself from bringing Keiji into a hug.  
  
"You're not Bokuto-san," Keiji answers easily, but quietly. Keiji's parents look on in horror as Osamu's face crumples.  
  
Keiko immediately gets up and sits on the other side of Osamu, rubbing his back as he takes deep breaths, refusing to cry in front of Benjiro and Keiko. "Osamu, why don't you get Keiji a glass of water?" Keiko asks tenderly. Osamu nods and leaves the three, grateful for the chance to walk a little and collect his thoughts.  
  
"Keiji, hasn't Bokuto already talked to you?" Benjiro asks reassuringly.   
  
"He d-did," Keiji confirms. They're silent, and the only sound that echoes in the room is of Osamu coming back and handing Keiji a glass. Without looking at Osamu, Keiji takes the glass and sips.  
  
"Keiji, Bokuto is not your-" Keiko begins and is interrupted by Keiji.  
  
"He can- he can be, a- again," Keiji stammers, setting the glass down on the coffee table. Tears continue to fall on Keiji's cheeks and Osamu takes his place next to Keiji again. He wishes he could take Keiji, wrap his arms around him, hold him against his chest as he tells him everything would be fine.  
  
"Keiji," Osamu settles for words, "I know this is tough-"  
  
"You think?" Keiji scowls at him through his tears.  
  
"I _know_ ," Osamu swallows thickly, "My husband doesn't remember me. Ya think that's easy for me?"  
  
Keiji looks away as he hears what Osamu calls him. "I'm not your husband."  
  
Osamu finds out just how deep Keiji can cut him with four words. "Keiji, _please-_ "  
  
"I don't love you," Keiji admits, "I can't be married to someone I don't love. I love Bokuto, Miya-san. I'm sorry."  
  
Benjiro stands up and gathers the taller man, keeping his own tears in check as he hugs his son-in-law tight, whispering not to mind Keiji. "He doesn't know what he's saying," Benjiro assures him, looking at Osamu with uneasy eyes.  
  
Neither of them know who he's trying to convince.  
  
"Keiji," Keiko speaks up with resolve, "Please think about what you're saying. You knew this wasn't going to be easy when you left the hospital. But we'll all be here for you, every step of the way."  
  
"I'm married to a _stranger_ , Okaasan," Keiji whines in despair, "I don't know him-"  
  
"Yes ya do," Osamu snarls, unable to keep the anger from painting the edges of his hurt. "This ain't just about ya. Ya don't get to dismiss the seven years we've been together because ya think yer still in love with Bokkun an' ya don't want to remember you broke up!"  
  
"You think I want this?" Keiji says, finally standing up and staring at Osamu with undisguised fury. "You think I want to be stuck nine years in the past?"  
  
"I think ya do," Osamu growls, "I think ya still wanna live in some perfect bubble with Bokkun-"  
  
"Stop blaming Bokuto-san because you're not hi-"  
  
"Rather than face the reality that you two broke up an' that you fell in love with me in the end!"  
  
"I'm not in love with you!" Keiji cries out, stepping back from Osamu. "How am I married to you-"  
  
"Ya think I forced ya to marry me?!" Osamu snapped back. "It takes two people, and ya said yes!"  
  
"Boys, calm down," Keiko interjects, stepping between them.  
  
Osamu and Keiji glare at each other before Keiji speaks up. "I'm not the guy you married, and you're not the guy I would marry. There's only one solution I see."  
  
"And what do ya see?" Osamu spits out, his heart starting to pound sickeningly in his ribcage.  
  
There is a pause where they stare at each other, chests heaving from the force of their breaths, and then Keiji says, "We get a divorce."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional notes about the fic so far:
> 
> \- I forgot to mention that it's set in a universe where covid doesn't exist. It's exhausting enough to deal with irl, I don't want to deal with it here, too.  
> \- If anyone was wondering, Akaashi guessed correctly. The clothes Osamu brought for him are technically Osamu's - Akaashi just wears them more. They're Akaashi's comfort clothes.  
> \- It won't always be angsty. I promise.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Alcohol use appears in this chapter. Nothing excessive, but it's nice to have the warning anyway.

Keiji's words hang thick in the air around them. The exact point where it sinks in for Osamu is palpable because his face crumples. Something Keiji suspects is guilt tugs at his heart but he's too busy breathing through the fog, spinning in his head to take heed. Osamu stares at him for another minute, closing and opening his mouth as he fails and fails to come up with words. Another moment of silence passes before Osamu's eyes flicker miserably to where Keiji's parents remain stunned, and then he turns and leaves, banging the apartment door shut behind him.  
  
Keiji turns to his parents, lost. The guilt makes itself known now with the sight of Keiko massaging her temples and Benjiro holding back his sobs quietly. Keiko is the first to speak.  
  
"Akaashi Keiji."  
  
Keiji frowns. He hasn't heard his mother use his name in that tone in years. He meets her disapproving gaze and stares back defiantly.  
  
"Yes, okaasan?"  
  
"Don't play dumb, it doesn't suit you."  
  
"Okaasan, surely, you're not on his side?" Keiji asks in exasperation.  
  
"This isn't about sides, Keiji," Keiko berates, "Now please sit next to your father and calm down." Keiji does as he's told. Benjiro wraps an arm around his shoulder as soon as he flops down.  
  
"Keiji," Keiko whispers, voice delicate but firm, "It's about Osamu and what he has gone through this week. Your otoosan and I watched him stay by your side day and night, holding your hand, begging whoever was listening for you to come back to him, to us." Keiji restricts the flow of blood on his left hand's fingers, turning to face his father when Benjiro takes both his hands in his.  
  
"Try to imagine how much pain your Osamu is in, Keiji," Benjiro implores, dejected eyes trembling as he looks at his only child. "You ripped his heart and threw it at his feet." He releases Keiji's hands when the young man shifts to wrap his arms around himself, looking cold.  
  
"It's not my fault," Keiji swallows, "It's not my fault I don't remember."  
  
"Of course it's not, but there's no need to say such words to him."  
  
Keiji feels fresh tears burn behind his eyes, "It's not fair." He looks towards his mother, who takes the spot on Keiji's other side and caresses his back diplomatically. "I can't be married."  
  
"You are," Keiko imparts.  
  
"Okaasan, can't you see how this affects me? I'm twenty, I haven't finished college, I can't be married! I don't know what I'm doing- I don't know the first thing about editing, how am I supposed to go on?" Keiji verbalizes his panic, looking between his parents.  
  
"We know you're scared, and we're here for you, Keiji," Benjiro declares. "It's okay to cry, and to freak out, I don't blame you for either. But Keiji, the fact is you are married and we couldn't have asked for a better partner for you."  
  
"Osamu is our son now, too," Keiko affirms, drawing a mystified look from her son, "No, don't look at me like that. We have some of those memories you haven't unlocked, remember? Every time you say you can't be married, you're only demeaning yourself."  
  
"What do you mean, okaasan?"  
  
"You're a smart man, Keiji. You knew what you were doing when you married Osamu. Do you really think you're the type not to think things through before committing to somebody with every fibre of your being?"  
  
Keiji looks around the space, spotting trinkets and photos on the shelves that taunt him of almost a decade's worth of memories.  
  
"Divorce isn't the solution," Keiko maintains, "Think about it. You _will_ get your memories back and you'll realize the magnitude of your mistake. You'll break both your heart and Osamu's."  
  
Keiji sobs again, letting his father wrap his arms around his shoulders. "What do I do, otoosan?"  
  
"We'll figure it out, all of us. But Keiji, listen, you need to stop treating Osamu like he stole you away from your first love. How would you feel if I wake up one day and start denying that you're my son?"  
  
That evokes a gasp from Keiji and he hides his face on his dad's shoulder.  
  
"We're here, Keiji," his mother affectionately states, "And more importantly, _you're_ here. After the accident, your otoosan and I couldn't-" she cuts herself off, breathing in deep.  
  
"I don't care if you don't get your memories back," Benjiro reveals quietly, "I promise you, you'll love this life - this life you built with Osamu."  
  
Keiji sniffs and presses his cheek one final time on his dad's shirt before sitting upright, following in his mother's steps and breathing in deep.  
  
"Please excuse me, I need to use the bathroom," he says, getting on his feet.  
  
"Are you hungry?" his dad asks, "Osamu made onigiris, we can reheat some for you-"  
  
"No," Keiji shakes his head, "But thank you, otoosan."  
  
He makes his way to the hallway and enters the door on the far right on autopilot, immediately spotting an unmade bed. A pair of onigiri-patterned boxer briefs sit innocently at the foot of the bed and Keiji blinks. There's no way that belongs to him, or his father.  
  
This is his and Osamu's bedroom.  
  
He looks away, not in the mood for a tour of the physical embodiment of how he and Osamu live, and hurries over to the only door inside their bedroom. The first thing Keiji takes note of is how clean the bathroom is. The lighting is outstanding, the mirror wide and spotless, and there's no questionable odor. The sense of comfort doesn't last long when he stares at his reflection and his jaw drops.  
  
Has he been wearing glasses this whole time? He knew he was slightly dopey from the meds in the hospital, and there was way too much going on when they got home, but how did he not notice?  
  
Longer, fluffier hair highlights the curls of his midnight black hair and he definitely filled out over the years, though nowhere near the degree of his husband's frame.  
  
He inspects the products lined up on the counter; On one side, an array of multiple skin products and Keiji hums, pleased to see three different brands of sun screen. The other side was almost barren, a modest display of a razor, a can of shaving cream that needs to be replaced, and a jar of sun screen identical to one of the three on the other end.  
  
Keiji doesn't have to guess whose side is his.  
  
Next to the sink's faucet is a glass holding up two toothbrushes and a tube of toothpaste. Figuring out who owns the white toothbrush and who owns the blue toothbrush is trickier. Deciding not to risk the fifty percent chance of accidentally using Osamu's toothbrush, he opens the cabinet on the wall to browse for an extra and gasps when instead, he finds a huge bottle of lube.  
  
He shuts the cabinet on instinct and covers his mouth. Splashing water on his face a moment later, he leaves and burns the image of the used bottle. Wandering back into their bedroom, he settles that it's the lesser of two evils, and drinks in the design.  
  
It feels _right_.  
  
He recalls Osamu sharing how Keiji had been in charge of decorating, and it shows. The walls are gainsboro in color, the pale tone complementing the soft-looking, steel gray bedframe that Keiji can imagine leaning on, propped up with a pillow, reading a novel that tickles his fancy for the week. Under identical lamps that sprout from the wall are two bedside tables standing on each side of the bed. He walks towards the one stacked with books and magazines, taking the one on top and inspecting the cover. He doesn't recognize the title or the art, and he wonders if this falls under reading for leisure or for work. He opens his drawer and almost squeals this time.  
  
It's another bottle of lube, though slightly smaller than the one he found earlier.  
  
Snapping it shut, he looks around for something, anything else to take his mind off of what the bottles of lube suggest. The wall near the other side of the bed boasts more framed photographs, significantly smaller than those hanging by their apartment's entrance. Keiji walks over and inspects them, and there is a rush of sound in his head and ears, like thousands of whispers struggling to make sense. He reaches out and touches his own face on one of the photographs, as if the connection would have the Keiji on the image echo back and send an archive of his mind. It feels unreal, looking at himself on the portraits - a Keiji in his late 20s with a husband, indefensibly happy, living in a city that living, breathing Keiji has only read about.  
  
One photograph sticks out, framing Osamu and Akaashi in front of what looked like a restaurant. Osamu sports a black cap and a black shirt that looks eerily similar to what he is currently wearing, an arm wrapped around Keiji, and a smile so bright it makes Keiji wonder what the occasion is. There's a sign behind them marked with, "Onigiri Miya" and Keiji speculates if this is the business Osamu was referring to earlier.  
  
The bookshelf next to the photographs grabs his attention next. As Keiji examines its contents, he finds solace to discover books that he cherished and kept in his room in Tokyo as a child, more familiar books from his freshman and sophomore years in university, and a variety of paraphernalia that hold sentimental value. He doesn't recognize some of the books and objects and tries to guess whether they belong to him or Osamu.  
  
Across the room, near Keiji's side of the bed and opposite the wall with photographs and the bookshelf, is a sliding glass door. Keiji approaches and realizes what Osamu meant by lots of natural light - the balcony is quaint, adorned with a wooden bistro set consisting of a table and two chairs, that overlooks a charming view of lush green trees and the nearby park. The sky is dark outside by now but Keiji can imagine how beautiful the view must be in the morning, bathing the room with soft, peachy hues of light.  
  
It's not a total luxury apartment, he hasn't seen the rest of their home after all, but comparing this to his college dorm is like comparing caviar to trout.  
  
It's surreal, almost too precious to really be his, and he can feel the love and thought he (and Osamu, he has to remember Osamu) had put into setting it up. There is a mountain of unknowns he has to adjust to but at least, somehow, Keiji knows he's home.  
  


* * *

  
Osamu grabs the bottle of beer the waiter places on the table for Kenma and takes a long swig. "Oi," he drawls, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, "Get me somethin' stronger!"  
  
"That wasn't yers," Atsumu sighs, about to motion for the waiter lazily. Kenma reaches for his husband's hand, meeting his eyes, "He needs water, not more alcohol."  
  
Atsumu glances at Osamu, taking in his brother's dazed, puffy eyes, and agrees. "We're gettin' water, 'Samu."  
  
"Did ya take that many volleyballs to yer head and impair yer hearin'? I said somethin' fucking stronger," Osamu curses.  
  
"Samu, ya still gotta go home to yer Keiji," Atsumu points out, gesturing for the waiter for 3 glasses of water.  
  
"Oiii," Osamu calls out for the waiter to come back, drawing the attention of other patrons inside the lightly packed bar.  
  
"Osamu, Keiji's parents are staying over at your apartment," Kenma mentions.  
  
That gets Osamu to lower his hand, slouching on the seat of their booth. Atsumu and Kenma left the hotel they're staying in as soon as Osamu called and met him in the bar. While Atsumu has been here a few times, mostly when he's visiting the younger twin and is in the mood to drink, Kenma only recognizes the area through osmosis. The waiter comes back with their water and the two coerce Osamu into finishing his glass.  
  
"Now will ya quit actin' like a jerk? Gettin' piss drunk isn't the way to deal with this, 'Samu" Atsumu chastises, tentatively sipping from his own glass.  
  
"Like yer in a place to tell me how to deal with this, you've no idea," Osamu says, bloodshot eyes fixing on the blond, "No. Idea."  
  
"Then fuckin' talk to us, 'Samu! All we know is that Keiji-kun has amnesia and Bokkun already talked to him! So why are ya tryin' to drink 'til ya pass out?" Atsumu admonishes.  
  
"He wants a divorce," Osamu says in a quiet voice.  
  
Atsumu is stunned into silence, leaning back on his seat. He exchanges a look with Kenma, who had sat up for the first time since they sat down.  
  
"D-did he say that?" Atsumu tries to confirm, "Or maybe ya read his words wrong. Ya know his vocabulary can give us headaches-"  
  
"Keiji said," Osamu interrupts, "that the only solution he sees is divorce." Atsumu curses under his breath, now wishing he had ordered beer instead of water for himself.  
  
The table is silent for a minute until Kenma gives his thoughts. "Keiji must be scared. Confused, definitely overwhelmed, but most of all scared." The twins turn to look at the smaller man and Osamu thinks out loud, "Seven fuckin' years and he gives up on us because he's scared?"  
  
"He thinks he's twenty. He has barely any memory of you," Kenma continues. "Don't be mad at K-"  
  
"Yeah okay," Osamu interjects, "And no, I ain't mad. It's Keiji. I dunno how to feel truly angry with him. It's just- we talk, but we can't do that now, him thinkin' I'm a stranger an' all."  
  
"He loves you and you know it, even if he doesn't," Kenma finishes.  
  
Osamu sighs. "I wish it had been me."  
  
"Samu, ya can't mean that.." Atsumu says slowly.  
  
"Just listen, 'Tsumu," Osamu asserts, looking at him with earnest eyes, "If it were me, it'd have been so much easier. Keiji could have made me fall back in love with him in a minute-"  
  
"Yer not wrong," Atsumu interrupts anyway, "Twenty-year-old you wakes up to find yer married to Akaashi Keiji? Ya would have popped a boner in yer hospital gown."  
  
It earns a chuckle from Osamu, and Atsumu can't help but sigh in relief. "Come on, ya need to go home."  
  
Osamu agrees, "Yea, let me get the bill and we can go." Kenma sighs in relief, earning another chuckle from Osamu.  
  


* * *

  
Kenma and Atsumu leave Osamu by the foot of his apartment complex after Osamu insists that he'll go up by himself. They can see Keiji when it isn't too late in the night. He feels bashful now, standing in front of their apartment door. It felt right at the time, but he shouldn't have walked out - at least not on Keiko and Benjiro.  
  
He swings the door open after unlocking it to find the apartment silent, the only source of light coming from the floor lamp in the living room. He walks over to the kitchen and pours himself a glass of water, almost dropping it when he hears a voice behind him.  
  
"Miya-san?"  
  
He turns around, dreading the look on Keiji's face but all he sees is his husband looking tired. "Keiji," Osamu whispers, wishing he can take Keiji to bed so they could both rest. He presses a hand to his forehead, cold from his glass of water.  
  
"Are you drunk?" Keiji asks, his voice a mix of worry and caution.  
  
This isn't how Osamu pictured his first conversation with Keiji after the events of the evening. "No," he confirms, "Knocked back a few but I sobered up." He feels his face start to burn and cools it off with his glass this time.  
  
"I know my words were harsh earlier," Keiji admits.  
  
"Did ya mean it?" Osamu swallows. "Do ya really want- are we getting a divorce?"  
  
 _Please say no_ , Osamu thinks. _Please, Keiji, say no.  
  
_ Keiji sighs. "I understand this is hard for you too, Miya-san, but please see this in my perspective." Keiji drops his shoulders and fiddles with his fingers behind him. "Even if Bokuto-san doesn't return my feelings today, the fact is I'm still in love with him. It's hardly a marriage when only one of the two people involved supports and feeds it. Do you really want to stay married to someone who doesn't love you, Miya-san?"  
  
"Keiji," Osamu takes shaky steps towards him and pleads, "Give me a chance, please. I'll do anythin'. Tell me how to fix this, how to fix you-"  
  
" _I'm not broken_ ," Keiji whimpers, barely able to keep himself steady.  
  
Osamu sees tears trickle down on Keiji's face and he panics. "No, of course not, baby-" he starts to move to take Keiji in his arms but Keiji steps back, looking uncomfortable. Osamu wants to bang his head on the wall.  
  
"I tell ya we're married and the first thing ya want is a divorce," Osamu lets the words spill without masking the hurt in his voice.  
  
"I'm sorry, Miya-san," Keiji says, voice soft and sincere. "I truly am. I just can't see how we can go back-" Keiji stops in his tracks, facing away from Osamu. The look on Osamu's face started to hurt him, too.  
  
 _Is this how it ends?_ It sinks in and the weight of it nearly makes Osamu collapse to the ground. He doesn't stop his tears as he reaches in his pocket, fingers clasping around Keiji's wedding band. He closes the distance between them and holds it out in front of Keiji. It gleams next to Osamu's wedding band on his own ring finger.  
  
"W-what? Miya-san?" Keiji asks, looking from Osamu's hand to his face with confusion.  
  
"It's yer wedding band," Osamu mumbles.  
  
"Miya-san, I-"  
  
"Just take it, Keiji," Osamu says, voice cracking.  
  
Keiji takes the ring slowly, the tips of his fingers grazing Osamu's hand. Before he can stop himself, Osamu surges forward and presses his lips to Keiji's forehead, ignoring how Keiji freezes under his touch. He stays there, tears trickling down to where he's pressing against Keiji's skin, every piece of him breaking until he finally finds the strength to pull away.  
  
He doesn't look at Keiji as he brushes past him. A whisper, barely audible, stops him. "I don't want a divorce."  
  
Osamu halts in his steps, turning around slowly. Grey eyes meet blue - blue, and wet. Keiji is crying, clutching on the ring pressed to his chest.  
  
"Wha- ya don't?" Osamu manages to ask.  
  
Keiji closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. "I was going to say, I can't see how we can go back, but I want to try. I don't want to risk destroying something when I must have known what I was getting into."  
  
Osamu finds himself marching back and he only catches a glimpse of Keiji's surprised face before throwing his arms around his waist and holding him close in a bone crushing hug. Keiji's shoulders are tense before he goes slack against Osamu's chest. Osamu doesn't care that Keiji's still passive, he presses his cheek to Keiji's and grins.  
  
"I love you so much, Keiji," Osamu whispers, "So fuckin' much. Ya mean everything to me."  
  
"Miya-san," Keiji starts, tone uncertain as he doesn't move a muscle.  
  
"Hmm?" Osamu hums, still pressing Keiji close to him.  
  
"Can we maybe, do this... slowly?" Keiji squeaks.  
  
"Oh, right," Osamu says sheepishly, pulling away but remaining close.  
  
"Whether I get my memories back or not, we'll have to learn how to- um, how to-"  
  
"How to be married?"  
  
"Can we start with friends, Miya-san?" Keiji mumbles and Osamu relishes in the blush forming in Akaashi's cheeks. "How long have we been married?" Keiji bravely asks.  
  
"Three years," Osamu says with a smile, "An' we've been together for 7, more or less."  
  
"Wow," Keiji whispers. He's unable to return Osamu's gaze, not when the other man was staring at him so intensely. Keiji feels an odd sense of guilt, unwilling to wipe the smile off of Osamu's face, but he has to let him know. "Miya-san, I can't start acting like your husband because I decided against a divorce."  
  
Osamu takes it like a sport and nods, "Gotcha. Take yer time, Keiji". He's still smiling and Keiji feels relief that he is.  
  
"Thank you," Keiji says sincerely, returning a shy smile of his own. Osamu wishes he could read Keiji's mind - _this_ Keiji's mind. His face is guarded but not unfriendly. He continues staring, not caring how ridiculous he must seem, until Keiji breaks the silence.  
  
"Do you need anything from the bedroom?"  
  
It takes a moment for Osamu to realize that he'll have to sleep on the couch, with Keiko and Benjiro occupying the guest room. The other room is cluttered with both Osamu's and Keiji's mess, taking it out of the options. "Just my pillow and a blanket," Osamu says, following Keiji to their bedroom. "Should change my clothes too, I guess," he mumbles, pulling his shirt off. Keiji looks back and instantly regrets it. He's grateful the lights are off, or Osamu would have seen just how red he must look. He tries to find something else to stare at other than Osamu's bare chest and arms as the other man rummages through the closet near their bathroom.  
  
"Didja look around?" Osamu casually asks, shrugging a shirt on and Keiji finally breathes.  
  
"Mostly this room, so far. I.. I'm in love with it," Keiji confesses.  
  
Osamu grins, "I'm glad, Keiji-kun." He's unreasonably happy that Keiji can admit that much.  
  
"Do you have everything?" Keiji asks. Osamu goes quiet and nods. Keiji doesn't ask him to stay, which doesn't surprise Osamu, but Keiji doesn't ask if the couch is comfortable and it's a prickly reminder that it's the twenty-year-old Keiji speaking, not his Keiji. He reluctantly makes his way to the door and stops at Keiji's voice, a seemingly recurring theme that evening.  
  
"Miya-san, I forgot to ask," Keiji asks, already siting on his side of the bed, "Which one is my toothbrush?"  
  
"The white one."  
  
"...Oh my god."  
  
Osamu watches Keiji hide under the sheets and laughs when it registers what exactly happened. "Well, that's something ya won't be forgettin' huh, Keiji-kun?"  
  
"Goodnight, Miya-san."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lube:  
> akaashi:  
> lube:  
> akaashi:  
> lube: helo
> 
> inarizaki: who needs memories  
> osamu: i do. pls remember me akaashi


	4. Chapter 4

_The muted pitter-patter of rain reverberates around the mostly vacant room, barring a man heaving a mattress into a steel gray bedframe._  
  
 _Keiji exhales heavily, brows creased as he surveys six out of the numerous boxes that have yet to arrive._  
  
 _He prays to anyone who is listening that one of the boxes holds their bedsheets, or at least a blanket large enough for their new bed._  
  
 _"Babe?" Osamu joins him, striding into their room and looking too relaxed for somebody who just moved in a new apartment without basically three quarters of their belongings. "Just got word from them," he announces, waving his phone in his hand. "It's as we thought, they're delayed. The rest o' the stuff comes in tomorrow mornin'."_  
  
 _Keiji groans, peering helplessly around the space. "Osamu, we're supposed to have finished unpacking most of the essentials today. I'll need to file another leave and-"_  
  
 _"And yer team can handle another day without their hotshot editor," Osamu contends, stepping closer to snake his arms around his husband._  
  
 _Leaning in gratefully, Keiji rests his cheek on Osamu's broad shoulder, facing him as he says, "But you wanted to cook for our first dinner here."_  
  
 _"We can order in, pick what ya want."_  
  
 _Keiji hums in thought, breathing in the earthy, musky scent from Osamu's shirt. "Oh no," he mumbles a moment later, leaning away as he eyes the boxes sitting ominously in the corner of the room. "The towels- are any of our towels here? Osamu-"_  
  
 _"Breathe, baby," Osamu soothes him with a kiss on the side of Keiji's neck. The tension on Keiji's shoulders is still evident, and Osamu begins to slide his hands down Keiji's waist to cup his full ass. He begins kissing down the expanse of skin on Keiji's neck and Keiji melts in Osamu's hold._  
  
 _They're glistening in sweat after Osamu strokes Keiji to his third orgasm, still spooning the former setter. He shifts to pull out, he knows Keiji must be oversensitive now, but the editor holds on to the arm still wrapped around him. "Stay a bit longer, please," Keiji whispers._  
  
 _Osamu is all too happy to oblige, pressing his lips tenderly on Keiji's shoulder. It's quiet, the only sound coming from the rain pouring relentlessly where they watch it from their glass door. Dark grey skies outside casts a deceptive early evening view even though it isn't noon yet._ _The towel they're laying on over the bare mattress is damp from their sweat and cum, and Keiji asks, "Did you pack an extra towel in your backpack?"_  
  
 _"Nah, just this one."_  
  
 _Keiji turns to face him, effectively dislodging Osamu out of Keiji, and Osamu admires the pearly white liquid beginning to trickle out of Keiji momentarily before grinning at his husband._  
  
 _"Did we seriously just use the only possible towel in this entire apartment for sex instead of a shower, Osamu?"_  
  
 _"We might've, yea."_  
  
 _"Osamu."_  
  
 _Osamu erupts in laughter and Keiji can't help but join him, poking at Osamu's chest in mock indignation as he takes in Osamu's bright, carefree smile.  
  
_

* * *

  
Keiji wakes up feeling confused, gulping down an urge to giggle brimming at the front of his throat for reasons he cannot begin to comprehend. He sits up steadily, blinking the sleep from his eyes, and frowns at his surroundings - familiar, comforting, and blurry. He blinks again and again until he looks around and spots a pair of black rimmed glasses on top of a pile of books.  
  
Right. His vision receded.  
  
He wonders if he could go without them but concedes when he tries to read the time from the clock hanging on the wall he hadn't noticed until now. After putting them on, the view from the glass door catches his attention and he spends a few minutes staring at the stormy sky. The sound of light rain serves as white noise as he attempts to recollect what he is sure was a dream. His vision is clearer than the details and nothing jumps at him about why he was so happy while he gained consciousness earlier.  
  
He should feel out of place, he argues with himself, being in a room his mind technically hasn't slept in before, but he's as calm as last night when he found and touched books and other belongings from his childhood and teenage years. He removes his glasses and puts them back, settling against his pillows and drifts off again, hanging in the moment between sleep and wakefulness. He twitches awake once or twice when he feels as if someone is sliding an arm around his waist but when he turns, Osamu's side of the bed is empty.  
  
It sinks in that he and Osamu have supposed sides on the bed and he kicks the covers off, deciding it was time to face the day.  
  
He'd been operating on something akin to adrenaline, fear, and a need to make sense of things when he had grabbed clothes from their closet last night. He's not even sure the clothes he slept in, including the underwear, are his. Deciding not to freak out about maybe wearing Osamu's underwear right now (it's free from any onigiri design, at least), not when he already has confirmation that he did use Osamu's toothbrush, he studies the contents of their closet closely this time.  
  
Not knowing how he missed it, he smiles when he sees his Fukurodani jersey hanging on the inside of the left portion of the closet door. He can't tell if it's his idea or Osamu's because as he expects, the right side door had an Inarizaki jersey hanging on it. He wonders how it would look if the jersey opposite his was another Fukurodani jersey or one from the MSBY Black Jackals. He sighs and digs through his own side, not recognizing most of the pieces, and picks a nondescript white shirt and a pair of white shorts that catches his eye.  
  
Water cascades over his body as Keiji stands under the shower, basking in the lukewarm temperature soothing his skin. He thinks back to the phantom touch on his waist earlier and hypothesizes it to a sense memory. He has a husband of three years, someone he's been dating for more or less seven, so it isn't a stretch to think that Osamu must do that a lot.  
  
Shaking it off his mind as he hasn't even faced Osamu today and he knows he's too red for his own sake, he turns to the products and faces another puzzle. Which ones are his? Assembled in compartments carved into the shower wall, they mock him as he reads through them without his glasses.  
  
In the end, he supposes it isn't as unsanitary as brushing his teeth with a stranger's - no, Osamu's - toothbrush and shouldn't feel too pressured. Keiji gets hold of one of the two shampoo bottles and scoffs.  
  
Anti-dandruff shampoo? Definitely not his.  
  
He places it back and takes the other one. Again, not another label he recognizes, but years of requiring shampoo that targets dry hair is all the confirmation Keiji needs to know this one is his.  
  
When he's done lathering much longer hair than he's used to, he rinses it out and examines the bottles of shower gel. Three options stand in front of him and he takes one, sniffing experimentally. It's calming, with notes of lavender and vanilla filling his senses. He likes it but puts it back, curiosity gaining the upper hand to check with the other two. The second one turns out to be conditioner, the label supplementing the shampoo he just used, and Keiji squeezes a dollop and slicks it on his hair. Leaving it on for his hair to absorb, he takes the last bottle and sniffs.  
  
This is definitely his.  
  
While the first shower gel is pleasant, this one immediately has him wanting to surround himself in it. It instantly comforts him, notes of bergamot, sandalwood, and something else he can't quite put his finger on embracing him. He goes ahead and works the gel into his skin and by the time he rinses off both the conditioner and the gel, he feels more relaxed than he has all morning.  
  
He steps out of the room clad in his all-white ensemble after brushing his teeth with the cursed toothbrush he should have picked last night. Keiji finds Osamu awake, sipping what smells like coffee from a mug. He takes a moment to appreciate the apartment bathed in the morning light, still in disbelief that he lives in such an exquisite place (his college dorm really wasn't an ideal living space by his standards).  
  
"Good morning, Miya-san," Keiji greets him politely, joining Osamu in the kitchen to slide on one of the kitchen stools by the counter.  
  
"Ya look like an angel," Osamu blurts out, tired eyes brightening as he checks Keiji out shamelessly. "How was yer sleep babe?" Osamu asks, and Keiji ignores the compliment to purse his lips at the nickname.  
  
"Must you address me that way this early, Miya-san?" Keiji retorts.  
  
"It's what I call ya," Osamu steps closer to him, the sleep in his smile morphing into a smirk as he asks conversationally, "Enjoy yer shower?"  
  
"It was pleasant, yes," Keiji staring quizzically at the other man.  
  
"How'd ya know which shower gel was yers?" Osamu asks, his smirk transparent even from behind the mug.  
  
Keiji straightens his back, satisfied to hear that he had chosen correctly, "I was fond of this scent the most, so I know it's mine."  
  
"Ya like that one?" Osamu continues, leaning far too close for Keiji's liking. Keiji tries not to think about how broad Osamu's chest looks this close, how easily he could rest his head on it and still have room for his hand to wander- no. He stares defiantly into grey orbs, keeping them there and away from bulging muscles that take up most of his view.  
  
"Yes, Miya-san, it made me feel calm, secure, content- I suppose you should know what I mean," Keiji supplies.  
  
"Of course, Keiji-kun," Osamu says, still standing too near him and the grin is beginning to get on Keiji's nerves.  
  
"What, Miya-san?" Keiji says irately.  
  
"Yer adorable, Keiji," Osamu grins, pressing his lips together as if to stop himself from laughing when Keiji glares.  
  
"I don't appreciate being made fun of, Miya-san," Keiji frowns.  
  
"Sorry babe," Osamu snickers, looking too untroubled for his own good, "It's just, the shower gel that made ya feel _calm, secure, and content_ is actually mine.  
  
If Keiji wasn't red before, he certainly is now. He excuses himself with a small voice, quick uneasy steps dragging him towards the hallway because he hasn't seen his parents and _aren't they supposed to be here?  
  
_ "They're out fer groceries," Osamu calls behind him, appearing to have followed him from the kitchen. _How does he read me so well?_ "I see," Keiji acknowledges, still unable to look Osamu in the eye. He walks towards the door of the room he saw his parents step in last night and opens it. He feels ridiculous wanting to hide from Osamu, and stepping into the room he shares with him would make him look even more silly, so he settles for what he presumes is the guest room. He doesn't lock it, Osamu probably has the keys anyway, and he falls on top of smooth sheets on the tidy bed. He wishes he wasn't so curious in the shower - every time he inhales he's assaulted by Osamu's shower gel and while it's still as pleasant as he remembers, being surrounded by what Osamu uses unnerves him.  
  
He wakes up to a firm hand rubbing his shoulder, prodding him awake from his nap.  
  
"Keiji, wake up," the gentle sound of his father's voice has him blinking slowly at the sight of Benjiro and Keiko standing over him, smiling at him fondly.  
  
"Lunch is ready," Keiko announces, "Please redo the bed your father and I fixed this morning and join us, Keiji-chan." Keiko leans in to kiss her son's forehead before stepping out. Benjiro follows, nodding at Keiji by the door with a beam, and Keiji gets up.  
  
The aroma of butter, garlic, fresh herbs, and sweet pork permeates the air in the living room, and instead of finding his father in the kitchen, he finds Osamu.  
  
"You cook, Miya-san?" Keiji can't help but ask, momentarily enchanted by Osamu moving with deft hands around the kitchen. Plates and bowls are assembled on the counter with several pieces of tonkatsu on a plate, steaming cups of rice, and bowls of miso soup. It's a simple lunch but the presentation impresses Keiji.  
  
Osamu curls his lips upwards, gesturing for Keiji to sit on the dining table he hasn't scrutinized. "Sure do. Ya didn't have breakfast, you must be hungry."  
  
Before he can pull the chair for himself, Osamu does it for him, inducing another blush while his parents look on, clearly amused with their bashful son. Keiko sits across him and Benjiro beside her, leaving the only chair beside Keiji for Osamu. Osamu carries over the plates and bowls as Keiji stares in wonder, question after question rotating in his head about the man he's married to. It hits him then, watching Osamu lay out plates one by one, that he lives with this man and will continue to live with him. He wonders how it didn't register before, when he and Osamu were alone while his parents were out. Osamu sits next to him and before he can voice out any queries, they say their graces.  
  
The first bite induces a moan from Keiji, prompting his parents to laugh. Osamu, who had been watching him intently, grins.  
  
 _I'm hungry_ , Keiji thinks defensively.  
  
"Your husband's an excellent cook," Keiko fills him in. "The star of family reunions we hold in Tokyo."  
  
"That he is," Benjiro gleefully adds, "And it seems, with or without your memory, you're still his number fan." It's Osamu who blushes this time, thanking Keiji's parents quietly, eating his way through his share.  
  
Keiji eats quickly, both to avoid being in the presence of such audacious parents and because the meal is honestly _so good.  
  
_

* * *

 _  
_"Why didn't you go out for groceries instead of sending my parents out in the rain?" Keiji asks in an accusing tone when Osamu joins them. After their lunch, Osamu had volunteered to do the dishes which left the Akaashis to reconvene in the living room. Osamu looks up from his phone and sits so near Keiji he can feel Osamu's thigh right next to his. _Does he always have to be this close?_  
  
Benjiro intervenes, "Keiji, he tried to stop us and go himself but we wanted to."  
  
"Osamu insisted we use his car, so it was no trouble," Keiko adds, giving Keiji a chastising look.  
  
Keiji looks down at his lap for a moment. "The meal was delicious. Thank you, Miya-san," he mumbles.  
  
"Was that so hard to say, Keiji-kun?" Osamu says, nudging Keiji's thigh teasingly with his.  
  
Choosing to ignore Osamu's pestering, Keiji shifts the topic to some of the questions drifting in his mind over lunch. "What business do you run, Miya-san? What do you do?"  
  
"I own Onigiri Miya," Osamu says, not shying away to mask the pride in his voice. "Started as a small business in Hyogo, ran into ya in Sendai and finally got the nerve to branch out in Tokyo. Now we got a branch 'ere in Osaka."  
  
"Why were we in Sendai? When was that?" Keiji asks, no longer concerned about their proximity now that Osamu is handing out pieces of the puzzle.  
  
"Ya came to watch and support Bokkun. Remember the Jackals?" Osamu quizzes, thrilled to have Keiji's full attention.  
  
Keiji nods, "Bokuto-san and your brother are teammates."  
  
"They were, and Shoyo-kun joined them in 2018. It was mid-November and I had a stall set up for my shop. Ya came to buy my onigiri, an' well.. we started seein' each other," Osamu reveals. He's lost in thought at the memory, dewy-eyed from Keiji complimenting his onigiri and asking if he had plans for a Tokyo branch.  
  
Keiji, on the other hand, tries and fails to picture the recollection. Bokuto told him that they broke up when he was in college, just a few years shy of 2018. It's irrational, Keiji knows, but his closest memories are of that still in college and still happily dating Bokuto. He can't help but brush aside the timeline and think of how he and Osamu came to be.  
  
"Miya-san, you're telling me this," Keiji gestures between them, "started because of your onigiri?"  
  
Osamu chuckles, "That's one way ta put it, but yeah."  
  
"Onigiri Miya has the best onigiri in all of Hyogo, Tokyo, and Osaka!" Benjiro exclaims proudly.  
  
"It's true," Keiko throws in, setting her cup of tea on the coffee table. "It attracts tourists both domestically and internationally."  
  
"I wouldn't know, I don't remember trying it," Keiji says snobbishly. Keiji's father snickers, "You'll regret saying that, Keiji. I'd say Osamu's onigiri makes up more than half your body weight."  
  
Keiji scoffs at the three of them laughing at his expense, sending a glare to the man grinning beside him. It dies down with the blaring sound of Osamu's phone, the ringing causing Keiji to wince at the volume. "Do you normally set that to be excruciatingly loud, Miya-san?"  
  
Keiji wonders if that was a hint of bitterness in Osamu's smile, missing the way Keiko and Benjiro give Osamu somber, knowing looks. Osamu answers the phone, turning to Keiji briefly to tell him, "It's Bokkun." Keiji sits up, unsure if he can ask to talk to Bokuto instead, and settles for listening in. "Yeah we'll be here. Nah leave the food to me. He's busy, the two of ya can talk when yer here. Aight, see ya." Osamu hangs up before Keiji could snatch the phone from Osamu's hands. "Bokkun's coming over later," Osamu announces.  
  
Keiko and Benjiro look at each other before asking Osamu if they can borrow his car again, intending on spending the afternoon exploring Namba City. Osamu allows it without hesitating and asks what they'd like for dinner.  
  
"I think we'll dine in while we're there," Benjiro beams. "There's a bunch I haven't crossed off my list." Keiko chimes in to say there is no end to it, with the sheer number of places available in the city, and proceeds to ask Osamu for his recommendations. They're making themselves scarce for when Bokuto comes over, Osamu knows, and he's grateful for their foresight to give Osamu, Keiji, and Bokuto some space.  
  
Instead of worrying about his parents leaving him alone with Osamu, Keiji can barely contain his excitement at the prospect of seeing Bokuto.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I forget how and when it was made clear in canon, but Bokuto and Atsumu should have already been teammates even before Hinata joined them in the MSBY Black Jackals in 2018. Keiji should still be in college at twenty and in this universe, already goes to Bokuto's MSBY games at that point.
> 
> \- Keiko and Benjiro are Osamu simps.
> 
> \- Apologies for the delayed update. I still haven't recovered from a flu but the next chapter will be up soon!


	5. Chapter 5

After bidding his parents goodbye and calling on them to take care, Keiji closes the door and turns to find Osamu watching him. They're locked into each other's gazes for a few moments and Keiji resolves that, with or without his memories, _he_ will have the upper hand. He walks towards him, keeping blue eyes fixed on Osamu and Osamu's mouth drops open, visibly shaken and alert from the abrupt shift in Keiji's movements. He steps closer until he can practically sniff the dishwashing soap on Osamu's hands, the deodorant Osamu uses, and the lingering steam of butter and garlic from his labor in the kitchen. Before their knees can collide or Osamu's chest can graze his, Keiji pivots and makes his way to the hallway, as if he hadn't been boring his eyes into Osamu's. He smirks to himself as soon as he's certain Osamu has no view of his face and steps foot in one of the two doors on the left side of the hallway.  
  
It's a common bathroom, noticeably smaller in comparison to the one in his and Osamu's room. Directly adjacent to the door across the hall of the guest room, Keiji concludes this must be what his parents use while they're visiting. He looks around and feels a familiar rush of agitation when his focus lands on the drawers. _Please, future Keiji, don't stash lube here too._ He steps out, deciding that it's better if he doesn't know if his parents have found something incriminating on their visit.  
  
Back in the living room, Osamu continues gawking at Keiji. His husband, looking every bit like an angel, could be such a tease when he wants to. Osamu wills his erection to go away and follows him, watching Keiji take in the sight of the extra room they use as an office.  
  
The first thing Keiji notices is the kotatsu right in the center. The blanket is maroon in color, draped over black cushions on each side. Keiji can imagine setting his laptop to study - no, he's finished with college now - to _work?_ during colder periods. The surface is free from clutter, unlike the rest of the room. Surrounded by cabinets and shelves, the area is littered with books, graphic novels, disarranged papers peeking out of folders and Keiji wonders when the last time either he or Osamu bothered with tidying up. A window serves as its only means of ventilation and Keiji walks over to one of the two desks in the room, inspecting a lone laptop.  
  
"That's what I use, yers is the other one," Osamu announces, leaning on their home office's door. Keiji doesn't look at him but glances at the other desk. The desk that looks like a hurricane swept over it is _his?_ Just how did he manage to be productive around such disarray? Osamu seems to sense his incredulity because the man snickers and informs him, "Yea, ya stopped carin' about how tidy it is from how much yer job demands from ya."  
  
Keiji pouts. "You said I'm an editor, Miya-san?"  
  
"A damn good one," Osamu brags.  
  
"Have they asked about me?" Keiji asks quietly.  
  
"Yea, an' they wish you a speedy recovery. A very speedy one," Osamu responds grimly.  
  
Keiji remains motionless and Osamu's just about to walk over to him when Keiji turns to leave the room, brushing past his husband. If future-Keiji is anything like twenty-year-old Keiji, then he has to have the habit of bringing whichever novel he's studying to bed. He steps in the master bedroom and picks up the graphic novel on his side table, examining the cover. It's still as unfamiliar as it had been last night and his reverie is cut short with Osamu sitting down on the bed- their bed, to Keiji's dismay. He almost asks Osamu to tell him more when he's distracted by the man sliding back on the bed, stretching his arms and resting his head on his hands. Osamu’s lounging there as if it's the most natural thing in the world and Keiji is rendered immobile for a moment.  
  
Keiji absentmindedly flips the pages, diverting wandering eyes from the gun show with an added view of Osamu's chest rising and falling steadily and- and the doorbell buzzes.  
  
"That's Bokkun," Osamu declares. Keiji drops the novel back on top of the pile and swiftly exits the room, hurrying over to welcome their guest.  
  
"Hey hey hey!" Bokuto greets as soon as Keiji opens the door. His hair remains upright despite droplets of water falling down on his royal blue polo shirt. The buttons are open, revealing the tops of musuclar pecs and Keiji flashes back to his dorm, where he had been mouthing over Bokuto's skin aimlessly.  
  
"Bokuto-san, please come in. Let me retrieve a towel-" Keiji manages to say before Bokuto pulls him into a hug. He feels a flash of heat in spite of the chilly moisture on Bokuto and wraps his own arms around him slowly.  
  
"Hey Bokkun," comes Osamu's voice behind them and Keiji instantly backs off, excusing himself with mumbled words that sound like 'look' and 'towels'.  
  
"Myaa-sam!" Bokuto's infectious beam has Osamu easily returning it, exchanging their own hug before Bokuto begins stepping out of his shoes.  
  
"How are you? Are all the Akaashis here?" Bokuto asks as they make their way to the living room.  
  
"My in-laws went out, should be back after dinner," Osamu says, motioning for Bokuto to sit on the couch. Keiji returns and hands Bokuto a face towel, earning him a short 'thanks' from the other man. "How are you, Akaashi?" Bokuto asks as he pats his face and arms dry from the residue of rain.  
  
"Been nappin' a lot," Osamu speaks for him. Keiji hesitates before he takes a seat between them.  
  
"Oh? That's good, Akaashi! You need your rest," Bokuto nods.  
  
It feels strange, sitting in the middle of the couch. His husband and his best friend. He looks between them as they discuss how Bokuto's journey went on his way to the apartment and he imagines their roles swapped, as if Osamu is the one visiting. As if the warmth he feels when he looks at Bokuto would carry over to when he looks at Osamu.  
  
It doesn't.  
  
Osamu excuses himself to the bathroom and for the first time, Keiji almost grabs his hand to ask him to stay, flushing with the realization of being left alone with Bokuto.  
  
Bokuto only beams at him and asks, "How are you and Myaa-sam? Has he made you eat his onigiri?" The question is innocent enough but Keiji snaps to think of a broad, thick chest, of thick arms, and _other_ thick body parts he might be stuffing in his mouth back in the master's bedroom and he clears his throat. "No, Bokuto-san, I have yet to sample Miya-san’s allegedly famous onigiri."  
  
Bokuto blinks at Keiji's use of Osamu's surname, as if Keiji had suddenly grown two heads, but shrugs it off quickly. His next words are gentle. "Akaashi, give Myaa-sam a chance."  
  
Keiji exhales. "It's not easy, Bokuto-san. I can't remember a thing."  
  
"Has he been good to you?" Bokuto asks, smiling encouragingly. He already knows.  
  
"Yes, he has," Keiji begrudgingly admits.  
  
"Oh! No more rain!" Bokuto suddenly exclaims, tossing the face towel haphazardly and points at the window. "You should get some sun while it's out, Akaashi!"  
  
Bokuto drags him to put his shoes on, yelling, "Myaa-sam! We're going to the rooftop!" They don't wait for Osamu's affirmation and head out as soon as Keiji slips on shoes he assumes is his.  
  
Keiji can barely pay attention to where they're going, his wrist too warm from Bokuto's grip around it. He's vaguely aware of the exterior of the complex's hallways and service stairs, only looking around when they step out into an expanse of concrete below their feet. The roof is a little wet but rays of light bounce splendidly off of puddles of water, warm and inviting.  
  
"Amazing, right Akaashi?" Bokuto says in wonder. "You and Myaa-sam live in such a nice place. Sometimes, when neither of you are in your kitchen, I find you both here."  
  
Keiji thinks hard, Bokuto's words about giving his husband a chance rolling in his head, and pictures himself and Osamu up here. Keiji walks to the ledge after remembering nothing, looking at the view of nearby apartments surrounded by trees. He can see the city from here, lights already twinkling hours before the sun would set. Bokuto joins him, a smile still plastered on his face as he, too, admires the view.  
  
Keiji observes him, aching to kiss the smile on Bokuto, but turns away. "You live in Osaka too, right Bokuto-san? The Black Jackals are based here."  
  
Bokuto sighs, nostalgia clearly etched all over his face. "Aw man, I miss them. No, Akaashi, I'm back in Tokyo. The team I'm training with is based there- but hey! Tsum-tsum's our setter! And our Tsukki's the new middle blocker!" Bokuto says with no small amount of fire, and Akaashi can't help but smile at his former captain's enthusiasm. He thinks about correcting Bokuto, reminding him that Tsukishima is not theirs, but lets it go. Referring to the blonde as their own remains to be one of the things Bokuto shares with him. He'll keep it that way.  
  
His smile vanishes when he whispers his next question.  
  
"Bokuto-san, why did we break up?"  
  
Bokuto deflates, contemplating his words. "We weren't angry with each other, Akaashi, but things changed. I have my career and you have your career and... we couldn't give what we wanted from each other."  
  
Keiji knows he's on the brink of crying. He's been desperately looking for a prompt, any ounce of a clue to retrieve some memories to make things make sense, but Osamu has been right all along. This is one memory he doesn't wish to ever come back to him.  
  
"I wasn't enough for you, Bokuto-san?" Keiji mutters weakly.  
  
"No, Akaashi, of course not," Bokuto turns to face him, forehead creased with worry. "It just... wasn't working anymore. We moved on before we finally ended it."  
  
Tears fall freely from Keiji's face as he confesses, "I'm glad I don't remember that, Bokuto-san. I don't want to remember falling out of love with you. I- I don't know how I could-"  
  
"Akaashi," Bokuto turns Keiji to face him. "We still love each other, it's just different. I'm your best friend, and I always will be."  
  
Keiji wipes his face, unable to stop his tears from escaping. He shouldn't cry, not over something that happened nearly a decade ago, but he succumbs to it. "You don't resent Miya-san at all, Bokuto-san?"  
  
"Akaashi, listen to me, I can't think of anyone better suited for my best friend than Myaa-sam," Bokuto says with conviction.  
  
Keiji scowls but he doesn't refute him. He takes a deep breath. "I suppose.. it's that I don't have closure."  
  
Bokuto frowns a little, "Closure?"  
  
Keiji meets his gaze, his own still wet with tears, and nods slowly. Bokuto studies him quietly, his perplexed expression still the same after all these years. He brings a hand up to wipe at Keiji's face tenderly.  
  
"Bokuto-san, can I kiss you?"  
  
Bokuto's hand falls, his eyebrows shooting up in alarm. "Akaashi, that's not-"  
  
"Please, Bokuto-san," Keiji cuts him off with a pleading voice. "Think of it as my farewell, to the relationship I'm still nursing in my head. And in my heart."  
  
"Akaashi, you're-" Keiji knows Bokuto's about to say he's married, but he stops himself. Bokuto looks at him with sympathy, still hesitant to make a move. Keiji's heart pounds, as if it's trying to claw out of his ribcage so Keiji can present it to the other man and show him where his name lies. Finally, Bokuto exhales heavily. "For closure?"  
  
Keiji nods, lips trembling as he confirms, "For closure."  
  


* * *

  
Osamu searches for his running shoes, mysteriously absent from the shoe rack near the apartment's main door. He slips on Keiji's sneakers after looking around for another minute to no avail. He heard Bokuto's declaration earlier and had intended to wait for them in the apartment, but a sudden idea of inviting Keiji to cook their dinner with him sprung up and he was on his feet.  
  
He finds the door leading to the rooftop wide open, the light barely breaking through it. The late afternoon sun hangs magnificently on the sky, tints of pink and orange indicating its inevitable descent. He turns towards the light and spots Keiji and Bokuto standing near the ledge. Osamu makes a move towards them but stops in his tracks when he sees how close they're pressed together.  
  
For a moment, he wonders if the gleam plays a trick on him. He grapples for an explanation as to why Bokuto's hands are on Keiji's shoulders, his face tilted sideways, or why Keiji's cupping Bokuto's face with both hands. His mind comes up blank, no valid answer in his sight, and as much as it feels like something is strangling his heart the longer he stares, Osamu can't look away.  
  
He's frozen on the spot, unsure if he wants to heave his lunch into the concrete or punch the wall by the door repeatedly.  
  


* * *

  
Osamu doesn't remember heading back into the apartment. He shuts the door to the master bedroom with a slam and sits on the edge of the bed, leaning his forearms on his knees.  
  
The image of Keiji and Bokuto burns in his eyelids. He blinks and he's treated to the sight of them kissing, a sight he hasn't seen in years.  
  
It's not that Osamu isn't aware of Keiji's feelings towards Bokuto. Keiji made them very clear last night, in front of his parents no less. He just didn't expect them to lead anywhere, not with the accident still fresh on everyone's minds. Osamu can't decide if he's more hurt or angry.  
  
The door opens slowly, spiked white hair peeking out first before revealing wide, golden eyes. "Ah, Myaa-sam, I was looking for you."  
  
Osamu looks up and immediately notices how the athlete avoids his gaze.  
  
"Where's Keiji?" Osamu asks with a calm voice.  
  
"Still upstairs.. I think he wants to check the view out a bit more."  
  
Osamu's jaw clenches. "Really?"  
  
Bokuto nods, rubbing the back of his neck. Osamu wonders if Bokuto knows just how guilty he looks. Gold eyes flicker between Osamu and the photographs framed on the wall before Bokuto finally says, "Myaa-sam, I think I'll cut my trip short and go back to Tokyo. Give Ke- give you and Keiji your space."  
  
"Somethin' happen?" Osamu asks with a flat voice.  
  
"No, nothing. Nothing happened," Bokuto quickly says.  
  
"Why don't ya say that again, Bokkun," Osamu stands up, voice perilously still. "Look me in the eye an' say that again."  
  
Osamu sees the panic sink in Bokuto's eyes. "Mya- what?" Bokuto blurts out.  
  
"Let me tell ya what." Osamu steps closer to him. "I just got back from the rooftop myself, where I saw ya kissin' my husband." Bokuto shrinks, a remarkable feat given his size, and looks on with glassy eyes. Osamu feels a strange tinge of satisfaction to see him cower before him. "And instead of tellin' me, yer friend, ya leave it to me to spell it out."  
  
"Myaa-sam, it's not like that-"  
  
"Then what was it, Bokkun?" Osamu says, anger flaring in his voice now. "Because from what I saw, you were definitely kissin' Keiji upstairs when ya know how he feels about ya and a kiss is the last thing Keiji needs!"  
  
"Myaa-sam-"  
  
"Don't call me that!" Osamu yells. "What the fuck were ya thinkin'? How could ya do that to me, _to Keiji?_ "  
  
"Akaashi said-"  
  
"Keiji is _stuck_ nine years in the past. Yer not!"  
  
Bokuto takes a few steps back cautiously, his gaze unfocused and his mouth hanging open. Osamu feels the urge to strike him, like how he used to as a teenager when Atsumu would steal another one of his snacks that he already labeled with his name.  
  
"I- I'm sorry," Bokuto whimpers, looking at Osamu desperately as if he was still finding more words to fix everything.  
  
"Save it. Yer right, you should go. It's fucked that Keiji doesn't want me around him, I don't need ya makin' things worse."  
  
Bokuto turns and walks slowly, shoulders slouched. He pauses and waits for Osamu to say something. "I really am sorry," Bokuto whispers.  
  
When Osamu doesn't move, Bokuto nods, looking as broken as Osamu feels.  
  


* * *

  
Keiko and Benjiro return long after their dinner, surprise coloring their features when they find out neither Osamu or Keiji have eaten. Osamu refuses their offers to cook for them politely, claiming that he'll call it a night soon.  
  
Keiji didn't say a word when he came back from the rooftop earlier, marching towards the office room and locking himself in. He steps out when he hears his parents' voices mixing with Osamu's, avoiding Osamu's gaze as he asks them about their day.  
  
"Are you sure you don't want something to eat, Keiji? Osamu?" Benjiro asks, looking between Keiji and Osamu with anxious eyes.  
  
"We can fix something for both of you," Keiko offers again. Keiji shakes his head and insists that they tell him how they spent their day.  
  
For the first time since they came to support him, Osamu wishes Keiko and Benjiro aren't there. He knows they're clueless about what they walked into, that they can feel the tension between them. They're trying to lighten the mood but what Osamu needs is to be alone with Keiji. He sits up straight when Keiko and Benjiro announce that they'll retire to the guest room, accepting a kiss on his forehead from Keiko and the pat on his back from Benjiro.  
  
When the guest room door shuts close, he turns to Keiji. Keiji hadn't asked for Bokuto when he came back to the apartment earlier, ignoring Osamu when he asked if Keiji wanted to cook their dinner together. Osamu watches him from the 2-seater lazy boy sofa perpendicular to the couch where Keiji sits alone, twiddling his fingers.  
  
"I think I'll call it a night, too," Keiji declares, standing up.  
  
"Wait, Keiji, do ya want a drink?" Osamu asks without thinking.  
  
"No, thank you, Miya-san," Keiji answers without reluctance.  
  
"Keiji," Osamu tries again, and Keiji looks at him impatiently. Osamu gets up and and steps closer, mindful to keep some distance this time. "Stay, please."  
  
"I'm quite tired."  
  
"You've slept plenty today, please," Osamu begs.  
  
Keiji's eyes are still narrowed but he relents. "What do you want, Miya-san?"  
  
"Can't we just- just talk?"  
  
"Why?" Keiji asks, his voice sounding more exhausted than he looks.  
  
"Just cause," Osamu supplies fecklessly. "Don't ya wanna talk to me?"  
  
Keiji looks at him quietly and for a moment, Osamu feels hopeful that Keiji would yield. Keiji looks away.  
  
"I'm not in the mood, Miya-san. Please let me be."  
  
Osamu watches him leave the living room, rooted to the spot. His mind is swimming and his mouth feels like cotton. When his stomach starts clenching painfully, he moves with determination in his step. He barges in the master bedroom without knocking, surprising Keiji enough for him to flinch where he's sitting on the bed. Keiji wipes his face hastily before standing up in alarm. "Miya-san, I said-"  
  
"Are ya even tryin'?" Osamu says, closing the door behind him. "Last night, ya told me you wanna try."  
  
"Try what, Miya-san? And what are you doing in my room?"  
  
"This is our room."  
  
Keiji lowers his head. "Please leave me alone, Miya-san."  
  
Osamu ignores his plea. "I don't think ya are," he continues. "Yer not tryin' at all. Ya don't care about us enough to try and make it work."  
  
"What do you mean?" Keiji questions.  
  
"Means I'm yer husband and ya don't care about me or how I feel."  
  
"This is what I tried to tell you last night!" Keiji says, his hands now shaking at his sides. "I feel obligated to love you just because you're my husband and you don't see how difficult this is for me-"  
  
"Because ya aren't tryin'! Osamu snaps, his body shaking just as hard as Keiji's hands. "Yer not putting in any effort to remember-"  
  
"Don't tell me I haven't because I have!"  
  
"You have, huh? Is that what you were doin' while kissing yer ex-boyfriend when yer married, Keiji?"  
  
Keiji freezes. "Bokuto-san told you?" he asks quietly.  
  
"I saw both of ya," Osamu admits. "Do ya have any idea how I felt-"  
  
"Do you have any idea how I feel?" Keiji cuts him off. "It's like I was tossed in a world I don't know a single thing about and I barely have the time to process it! My memory isn't a button, Miya-san, pushing it over and over doesn't guarantee that I'll remember something." Keiji stops to wrap his arms around himself. "I'm just so confused," Keiji reveals, looking up at Osamu with wet eyes. "I know I told you I want to try but.. it’s not working. I'm sorry. My feelings haven't changed - I don't love you. I _can't_ love you. Living together and wearing some fancy wedding ring doesn't equal a marriage."  
  
Osamu's body doesn't give him any warning. He sobs, tears stinging his eyes and streaming down his face as he steps back. Keiji covers his mouth, watching all of it unfold in horror. Every bit of the rage and frustration in the crease of his eyebrows disappears, making room for his guilt. "Osamu, I-"  
  
"You were right last night," Osamu says through his tears. "Yer not my husband. Yer not my Keiji."  
  
Keiji's eyes flare in hysteria and he takes a step towards Osamu. His next words fall from his lips like a reflex.  
  
" _I am your Keiji!_ "  
  
A stunned pause takes over the room and the two stare at each other. Osamu feels his heart skip a few beats in succession. The sheer force of how Keiji cried his words out has Osamu shivering, aching to reach out and grab him.  
  
Keiji moves first. "I- I don't.. I don't know where that came from," he says, his voice a shocked a whisper. He wraps his arms around himself again, the rushing sound in his ears back just like last night, when he was preoccupied with discerning the photographs on their bedroom wall. His head begins to throb, the disgusting kind that comes after crying for an extended period. Keiji raises his hands to press the tips of his fingers on his eyes, his palms massaging his cheeks thoroughly.  
  
The words echo in both of their minds.  
  
It doesn't register to Keiji that he shouted them until the words were hanging in the air. It felt just as natural as saying, 'Are you out of your mind?' when someone claims that Kuroo-san's hair is normal. He can't think of what drew it out of him, it simply felt like the next rock to hop on when you cross a river as he watched Osamu crumble before him. His guilt has fully taken over and his only thought is to make Osamu feel better.  
  
It hurt. It hurt to hear Osamu say he wasn't his Keiji. He's baffled now because they are true - Keiji has said as much last night. He isn't Osamu's husband, he's not the same Keiji, and yet something inside him imploded and felt the need to fight back.  
  
It feels as if there's someone else struggling to come to the surface, to fix what twenty-year-old Keiji is messing up. Someone else who takes comfort in the smell of Osamu's shower gel, who doesn't flinch when Osamu's too near, who wears his wedding band proudly rather than tossing it in the drawer of a side table. Someone else who feels Osamu's pain like his own and would do anything to make it go away.  
  
Osamu's Keiji.  
  
Keiji blinks tears of frustration, wanting to reach inside himself and rip him out, toss him to Osamu and say, 'There, take him. Now leave me alone.'  
  
Instead, he's stuck. He tries to reconcile his own feelings with that of Osamu's Keiji and sighs. It's exhausting, and even more confusing.  
  
"Keiji?" Osamu's voice calls out, gentle and closer to him now.  
  
"Miya-san, please," Keiji mumbles.  
  
"Look at me, Keiji." Osamu's voice is calm, but the pleading tone is what gets Keiji to drop his hands to his sides. "Are ya okay?" he asks.  
  
"I don't know," Keiji answers honestly. Osamu steps closer.  
  
"Miya-san," Keiji starts, picking up the energy to say, "I'm sorry." It feels so intimate, standing in the dark with Osamu just a foot away from him. "I'm so sorry," Keiji repeats, "I shouldn't have lashed out. I shouldn't have asked Bokuto-san if I can kiss him-"  
  
"Keiji, shh, it's okay," Osamu whispers. Keiji listens to Osamu's breathing, anchoring himself on it. "Can I hug you?" Osamu asks tenderly. Keiji nods his approval slowly.  
  
Osamu closes the distance and wraps his arms around Keiji. Keiji half-expects his body to stiffen with his touch, but he only falls forward.  
  
Keiji cries.  
  
Something about the way Osamu cradles his head against his chest has him flinging his own arms around his shoulders. The battle inside him halts to a ceasefire, and Keiji shudders as he relaxes even further in Osamu's arms. One of Osamu's hands slides up, threading his fingers through Keiji's locks. The motion soothes Keiji enough to have him breathe easier, smearing his tears on Osamu's shirt.  
  
"Yer processing a lot, I get that," Osamu says, voice barely above a whisper. "I just wish you would let me help ya, instead of goin' to anyone else."  
  
"I didn't mean to hurt you when I kissed him," Keiji says. "Please, you have to understand, I needed closure."  
  
Osamu barely nods in acknowledgement and he sighs.  
  
His silence has Keiji leaning away to look at him properly. Osamu looks heartbroken. "Didja mean it?"  
  
Blue eyes tremble with worry and confusion, shooting Osamu with questioning look.  
  
"You didn't just say ya don't love me. You said ya _can't_."  
  
Keiji wishes he could take his words back. The hurt on Osamu's face is breaking him enough to forget what he had been battling himself with.  
  
 _He wakes up one day and finds that the person he loves doesn't love him anymore. I know that better than anyone today._

"This will sound ironic coming from me, but please forget that last sentence, Miya-san." Keiji whispers.  
  
Osamu's hold on him tightens by a fraction. "I'll try."  
  
Keiji feels like he's wrong to but he can't help but think, what if Bokuto started behaving the same way he has been if they were still together? It would rip his heart in half. He knows he's not fully Osamu's Keiji, but he's all Osamu has. He can start by being honest with Osamu.  
  
"In the hospital, doctors explained to me in several instances and versions that it'll be stressful having no control of my life. This version of my life isn't going to make sense at first, and I might try and hold on to what I know from my past to feel a semblance of control, to feel less lost," Keiji discloses.  
  
"That's what you were up to with Bokkun in the rooftop," Osamu states.  
  
"I needed closure. It's easier to put some things on the side for now, like my own graduation or landing my first job. But Bokuto-san is a constant in my life. He means a lot to me. Please don't hate me or Bokuto-san for this."  
  
"I don't hate either of ya," Osamu says. "Will ya tell me what you were thinkin' when ya said yer my Keiji?"  
  
"I really don't know," Keiji admits. Osamu's arms are still wrapped around his waist and his own hang lifelessly on Osamu's shoulders.  
  
"Know what I think?" Osamu begins. "I think somewhere in this beautiful mind of yers," a hand comes up to brush Keiji's temple. "Somewhere in there, you remember me. Like ya said yesterday, there must be a reason why ya married me. Ya know a part of you loves me but it scares ya."  
  
For the second time that night, Keiji isn't able to stop his words from pouring out. "How do you know me so well?"  
  
Osamu smiles, the hand brushing his temple moving down to caress his jaw. "Because if yer my Keiji, then I'm also yer Osamu."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't caught it yet, let me confirm it here. The moment the guilt starts to sink in with Akaashi when Osamu starts to sob, he says Osamu, not Miya-san. It was automatic for him.
> 
> I know I haven't replied to all of your comments but I promise I will! My time on AO3 is mostly spent making sure every chapter comes out the way I want it to and then if irl or work lets me, I get back to editing. I want to churn every chapter out as fast as I can without compromising my vision for the story.
> 
> I'm really grateful for the comments, especially those that have been coming back to leave another one! And thank you for the wishes, I'm doing better health-wise!
> 
> On that note, please have faith in Osamu and Akaashi. Especially Akaashi.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains references to the car accident, including flashbacks. There's also a scene with a major character portraying a panic attack. Please tread carefully if these upset you.

Keiji shuffles and lays on his stomach, blinking slowly at the faint streaks of light peeking from the glass door, well past the break of dawn. He stretches his right arm, the extra space still as peculiar as the first night having slept for months on a single bed in his college dorm.  
  
Osamu had held him until he stopped sniffling last night, asked if he was sure he didn’t want to eat, and tucked him in bed. He feels entirely well-rested, having dozed off as soon as Osamu had shut the door.  
  
Things aren’t any less confusing, with the deluge of unanswered questions that continue to torment him. But he isn’t frustrated, not after the release from sobbing into Osamu’s shoulder has given him.  
  
For as long as he can remember, Keiji’s known he’s only ever been interested in men romantically. He’s blessed and grateful to have parents that supported this part of him even before Keiji knew it for himself, thus daydreaming about marriage came as easily as studying literature for him.  
  
Since he woke up, he’s had his parents and Bokuto - his closest constants - assure him that they’re here for him. He has no reason to doubt them, he knows their concern comes from a genuine place.  
  
But there’s something different about Osamu.  
  
He knows all he’s done is hurt Osamu to an unthinkable degree since they left the hospital and yet he could feel the underlying promise of _we’re in this together_ from the Inarizaki wing spiker. Something runs deeper with Osamu than what he remembers with anyone else - including his own parents, which terrifies him a little.  
  
If the rings, the framed wedding photos, and his own parents confirming it themselves haven’t convinced him yet, last night has shown him how well and truly married he is. Osamu is his - as absurd, as petrifying as that is - Osamu is _his_. He felt the love from Osamu last night that even without any recollection of how they came to be, Keiji could recognize the force of it.

Osamu is right, Keiji hasn’t been trying. He’s been so scared and desperate to cling unto what he knows without showing any regard for him, for their relationship.  
  
Keiji rolls out of bed to start his day, fully intent to do one thing - try.

* * *

He finds Osamu fast asleep on the couch, snoring lightly and limbs hanging awkwardly off the side. Without meaning to, he wonders what Osamu’s like with all of that extra space on their bed.

He stops there.  
  
He’s not at all ready to dive into the relationship just yet. Instead, he sets out to take care of breakfast by rummaging through their kitchen’s pantry and drawers. In college, he’d treated his body horribly with one instant ramen after another, indulging in proper meals when his parents would insist on him taking a break by taking him out to dine with them or dropping off home-cooked packaged favorites.  
  
He’s halfway through cooking the fourth omelette when his parents join him, exchanging silent greetings so as not to wake Osamu. While sipping coffee Keiji prepared, Keiko divulges, “He looks uncomfortable.”  
  
Keiji and Benjiro follow Keiko’s line of sight and his dad sighs in pity, “Keiji, why don’t-”  
  
“I’m not ready to sleep with him,” Keiji whispers in panic, wincing after he hears his own suggestive phrasing.

His parents look over where half of Osamu’s body is dangling off the couch briefly and then at each other, nodding in understanding within seconds.  
  
“Keiji, we’re taking up space that Osamu could and should be using,” Benjiro says kindly.

“We’ll always be here for you, Keiji-chan, but I think what you need-”  
  
“Otoosan, okaasan, I need both of you here-”  
  
“What you need,” Keiko continues patiently with a fond smile, “is to get to know Osamu. Alone.”

Any protest Keiji can scrap together withers away when they hear Osamu stir awake and the Akaashis turn to the living room to watch him unceremoniously tumble off the couch. A faint, kansai-laced ‘ _shit_ ’ fills the silence and Benjiro sets his mug on the kitchen counter.  
  
“Do you know which hotel your brother-in-law checked-in again?”

* * *

“We’ll call and arrange dinner somewhere in the city, okay?” Keiko says as she caresses Keiji’s cheek, frozen by the apartment entrance while he watches his parents leave. He hasn’t even wrapped his head around the fact that Miya Atsumu is his brother-in-law and that he’s in some hotel in the city. He doesn’t know how he can deal with one Miya by himself, let alone two.  
  
“Otoosan, at least let me drive for ya-” Osamu says behind him, rubbing the sleep off of his eyes.  
  
“Ah don’t worry about that Osamu, we’ve already called for a taxi,” Benjiro lets him know cheerfully, making his way to Keiko by the apartment door.  
  
“I’ll carry yer bags for ya-”

“No need, no need! Just enjoy your breakfast with Keiji and we’ll see you later!” Benjiro grins, looking all too merry. He stands beside his wife and regards Keiji with a sunny look, Osamu joining his view beside Keiji shortly.  
  
“Do notify us if you have anything particular in mind for dinner, okay? We’ll get going now. We love you both,” Keiko says and she plants a kiss on both Keiji’s and Osamu’s cheeks.  
  
“We love you both!” Benjiro echoes, beaming as he waves and with that, the two make their way down the hallway to the elevator.  
  
Osamu shuts the door after a moment and turns to Keiji, his own worry reflected in Keiji’s twiddling fingers.  
  
“Did they say anythin’ ‘bout why they’re hurryin’ out of our place?”  
  
Keiji doesn’t answer, doesn’t know how to tell Osamu ‘they want me alone with you’.

Osamu persists, “Why go to a hotel? Was the guest room not to their likin’?”  
  
At this, Keiji shakes his head, deciding to put at least one of them out of their worries. “They want to see more of the city,” Keiji says, his own excuse lame even to his own ears.  
  
Osamu looks like he’ll argue again and Keiji cuts it off quickly. “I made you breakfast, Miya-san. Or I tried to.”  
  
The effect is instantaneous. The corners of Osamu’s lips turn up and he says, “Oh? Why don’t ya serve it to me while it’s hot, Keiji?”  
  
Keiji wills himself not to flush and ignores him, making his way to the kitchen with Osamu chuckling behind him.  
  
“Looks good,” Osamu praises the last plate of scrambled eggs before beginning to wolf it down.  
  
Keiji feels foolish and guilty. The omelette disappears in no less than half a minute and while there’s at least some coffee left, it can’t be enough for Osamu from what Keiji’s observed. One of the easiest things to pick up on about his husband is that Osamu has a very healthy relationship with food. He hadn’t recognized most of the ingredients and fresh produce in their fridge earlier and he wouldn’t have known what to do with them anyway.  
  
“I’m sorry, Miya-san, I should have made more, or something else.”  
  
“Don’t sweat it, I eat anythin’ ya make for me,” Osamu answers easily, gulping down lukewarm coffee.

Keiji chews his lip and thinks about Osamu’s invitation to cook with him last night. Before he can offer Osamu’s idea back to him, Osamu speaks.

“Take it easy, Keiji. Yer gonna remember what I’ve taught ya eventually.”  
  
It incites a smile from Keiji, nodding at Osamu’s words. Not quite convinced, but hopeful. He sits in a trance, oddly unperturbed with Osamu gazing intently at him, and tries to summon memories the kitchen may be hiding.

Nothing comes to mind, as he expects, and Osamu’s deep baritone pulls his attention back to him.  
  
“Keiji.”  
  
“Yes, Miya-san?”  
  
“Go on a date with me?”  
  
Keiji blinks and stares at the expression he’s never seen before on Osamu. He’s agitated, his elbow leaning on the dining table and his mouth hidden behind a closed fist. While Osamu waits for Keiji’s answer, Keiji reflects back to early this morning as he got his bearings. _Try._  
  
“Okay, Miya-san.”

* * *

Keiji takes his time in the shower, mulling over the realization that he had just agreed to go on a date with Osamu. He isn’t aware of how much time has passed while reviewing his outfit options, nearly turning their closet upside down in the process, until Osamu knocks asking if Keiji is ready.  
  
While Keiji gets dressed, Osamu takes it upon himself to tidy up his sleeping arrangement in the living room, clean up the mess in the kitchen, and change the sheets of the bed in their guest room. He also inspects the room just to make sure that if his in-laws had forgotten anything, he could bring it over when they meet for dinner later.

Keiji steps out of the master bedroom, allowing Osamu his turn to get ready, and immediately feels useless when he returns to the kitchen. He finds the living room in a similar state and sighs, wondering how childlike he must seem having contributed nothing to the responsibilities. He hadn’t thought about helping Osamu earlier, too preoccupied with giving himself time and space to breathe but Osamu didn’t seem to mind, his grin stretched pseudo-permanently over his face after Keiji didn’t turn him down.

He remembers the mess he made from picking up and discarding several shirts and decides that he can at least fix that himself.

Keiji returns to the master bedroom and finds out that Osamu takes very quick showers.

Osamu is standing in front of their closet with just a towel hanging low around his waist. His bare chest, impressive arms, and a tummy that clearly looks like Osamu goes to the gym but loves to eat are glistening from his shower. Keiji finally gets the full picture from the preview on the first night and Osamu doesn’t bother covering himself.

“M-my apologies, Miya-san-” Keiji says after recovering and averting his gaze.

“Are ya gonna leave me to clean yer mess here too?” Osamu asks with a pout.

Guilt overcomes his embarrassment and Keiji complies, stepping in meekly. He begins folding the shirts he tossed on their bed, keeping his focus on his task, and misses how Osamu snickers behind him.

“Puttin’ my boxers on now, if ya wanna know,” Osamu says, glancing behind him when he removes the towel.

“Don’t worry, I’m not looking,” Keiji replies in a small voice.

“I don’t mind if ya do.”

Keiji chokes back a groan and gathers the remaining clothes on the bed, holding them up to hide his face, and hurries over to toss them in the general direction of the closet. He exits their room in haste to the sound of Osamu erupting in laughter.

* * *

By the time they drive out of their apartment, it’s almost noon. Osamu strains to keep his eyes on the road, itching to watch Keiji take in the surroundings as they drive towards the city.

With the sudden urge to take a few photos, Keiji pokes around his pockets and it only hits him then that all the chaos has had him forget that he hasn’t used or seen his phone.

“Miya-san, do you know where my phone is?”

“Ah shit, I keep forgettin’ to hand it to ya. Should be in my bag in the backseat,” Osamu says.

Keiji reaches over, setting the black backpack on his lap and unzips it. He finds it easily enough, buried under what looks to be Osamu’s spare clothes and thanks modern technology that it unlocks with his thumb print when the passcode he remembers doesn’t work.

His home screen is assaulted with hundreds of notifications and Keiji pushes up his glasses, messages from old friends and high school teammates overshadowed by many names unknown to him. It intimidates him to think of how he’s supposed to thank people he doesn’t know for their well wishes.

“Don’t worry ‘bout that. They’ll understand if ya don’t reply right away,” Osamu suddenly says without looking at him. Keiji feels the same rush of comfort from last night and he almost takes Osamu’s hand in gratitude. If he does, Keiji suspects Osamu wouldn’t want to let go and the man is still driving, after all.

The scenery from the passenger window takes his mind off of his phone and he asks Osamu, “Why Osaka?”

Osamu smiles, glancing briefly at Keiji. “Food. It’s neutral, too.”

The food Keiji can acknowledge, even if he doesn’t recall eating his heart out here, or at least not yet. “What do you mean neutral?”

“Tokyo always felt like it’s yers an’ Hyogo will always feel like it’s mine to ya. Osaka… is ours.”

Keiji falls silent but he can’t help but smile at how sensible it sounds. A part of him still aches for Tokyo but he can’t deny his curiosity with unearthing more of the city he lives in now.

“And where are we going, Miya-san?”

Osamu steals a glance and grins, “Take a guess, Keiji-kun.”

Keiji’s brows furrow as he thinks, turning his head to the side to study Osamu. It’s not like he’ll find the answer in Osamu’s features but it astonishes Keiji now that he has the chance to really take in the former Inarizaki spiker.

His hair’s no longer dyed, the fossil grey he remembers from high school now an obsidian black. It’s shorter, the fringe that still sweeps to the right suits his boyish face. Thick eyebrows, bushier at the center, frame deep-set bedroom eyes and a proud nose.

Keiji feels a swell of heat run through his neck up to his cheeks when he concedes to something he’s hidden in the deepest recesses of his mind the moment Osamu stepped in his hospital room.

The man is absolutely and ridiculously handsome.

Osamu turns his gaze to him quickly as Keiji continues to stare and smiles encouragingly. “It ain’t hard ta guess, come on Keiji.”  
  
Osamu turns the wheel and Keiji shifts his focus to Osamu’s forearms and hands, maneuvering the wheel with expertise. They’re deep in the city now but he pays it no mind, his head circling back to the framed photograph of the two of them in their room, with Osamu’s arm wrapped around him in front of-  
  
Keiji gasps.

“Onigiri Miya?”

* * *

They park in front of Onigiri Miya Osaka branch and Keiji marvels at the line of people standing outside. It extends to the next row of shops and Keiji’s heart flutters in pride - husband or not, it amazes him when people reach such lengths of success.

“Your very own Onigiri shop,” Keiji mutters when Osamu opens the passenger door for him.  
  
Osamu flushes and says, “Hope yer hungry.”  
  
Several of the patrons waiting in line call out for Osamu, some waving and some asking if he’s making onigiri today. Osamu bows sheepishly and apologizes, claiming he isn’t here to work, and leads him towards the entrance Keiji recognizes from the photo.  
  
“And you have such devoted fans too,” Keiji teases but his tone holds no bite to it, not when he steps in and is immediately treated to the aroma of freshly cooked rice and the variety ball fillings. The design is quaint, more traditional than modern, with a number of flat screens playing what looks like a professional volleyball match.

They’re accosted by a middle-aged lady wearing what Keiji assumes is their uniform, her face twisted as if she’s struggling not to sob.  
  
“Keiji-chan! Oh Keiji-chan,” she exclaims, wrapping herself immediately around Keiji, drawing the attention of customers currently dining in. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” she says, looking up at him with a teary smile.  
  
“Uh, Keiji, this is Hiseki-san, manager of the Osaka branch,” Osamu attempts to clear up for Keiji.  
  
“Thank you for your kind words, Hiseki-san,” Keiji says, bowing when the lady steps back.  
  
“Oh, he really doesn’t know…” she trails off, looking between Osamu and Keiji.

Keiji returns an apologetic smile, turning to Osamu in search of help.

“We’re takin’ it one day at a time,” Osamu supplies, “an’ we’ll start with lunch.”  
  
Hiseki nods in understanding. “Of course, come, come!” She takes Keiji’s hand and leads him to the bar directly in front of the onigiri production station. Three employees continue to work meticulously, though all of them gaze at Keiji a little too long, and a little too somberly.  
  
Keiji sits on a stool and turns when Osamu takes the seat next to him, declaring, “If we could have yer specialty please, Hiseki-san.”  
  
Hiseki hums, thumping a finger on her chin. She shoots Osamu a playful look and says, “I could, _or_ you could show off for your darling husband.”  
  
Osamu chortles, sliding out of his stool and humors his manager. “Aight, ya got me there.”

Keiji stays still as Osamu joins his employees, the other three he hasn’t been introduced to immediately bowing in greeting. He watches Osamu don an apron Hiseki hands to him, washing his hands on the sink before turning to Keiji. “What would ya like, Keiji-kun?”

“Surprise me, Miya-san.”  
  
Osamu ignores the pointed stares he receives from his employees with how Keiji addresses him and gets to work.

It couldn’t have been more than a minute but Keiji is already mesmerized. Osamu clearly loves what he does, making food for other people. The deadpan teenager he remembers on the opposite side of the court blossomed into this dreamy young man who comes to life in the open kitchen. Practised hands move swiftly and efficiently, shaping one rice ball after another until he finally pushes a plate in front of Keiji. Iron grey eyes brimming with anticipation watch Keiji as the editor takes the first of the three rice balls, holding it before him like a long-lost jewel.

Keiji smiles fleetingly at Osamu, thanking him and the staff for the food, and he bites.

He’s in heaven.

His expression seems to ease Osamu’s qualms because he grins knowingly, leaning on the counter top dividing the kitchen from the bar table. It’s a mouthwatering mix of the subtle tanginess the salted rice provides, the rich, delectable salmon in its filling, and the crispy, zesty nori bringing it all together.

Keiji swallows and doesn’t think about his next words. “I see why I married you.”

He digs in again, too engrossed with savoring his meal and misses the way Osamu takes a moment to process his words. “I hope ya mean that,” Osamu quietly says, engraving the image of Keiji eating the rest of the onigiri in his brain.  
  
The unfiltered praise he gave sinks in and Keiji hides his flush behind the second rice ball, filled with umeboshi. “Care to join me, Miya-san?” Keiji offers after he summons the will to return Osamu’s gaze. Hiseki ushers Osamu back next to Keiji and insists that she takes care of the rest of their orders.

Osamu doesn’t stop stealing glances at Keiji as they eat in comfortable silence for the rest of their lunch.

* * *

Bellies full and cravings satiated, Osamu and Keiji step back into the bustling street. Osamu stops Keiji from heading towards the car and Keiji raises an eyebrow in question. “Wait. Thought we could walk. If ya want to,” Osamu explains.

Keiji agrees without a fuss, the walk appealing to him in order to burn off the amount of onigiri they consumed. Their stroll is filled with Osamu pointing out various establishments - a tea shop and cafe, an antique store, a leather store specializing in bags, wallets, and shoes - all of which Osamu claims Keiji likes to visit. Keiji nods at each of them and freezes when he spots a sign leading to a bookstore.  
  
“An’ of course, yer favorite,” Osamu smiles widely. Keiji strides towards the rustic door of the shop, Osamu following closely behind him. 

They’re greeted by a man with greying hair and kind eyes, flashing a bright smile. “Ah, Keiji-kun, how nice to see you after so long. And you brought your chef husband.”  
  
Keiji returns the smile awkwardly, grasping desperately for names his mind doesn’t have, and Osamu takes over.  
  
“Ya can call me Osamu, this is my husband’s favorite book shop after all,” Osamu says with full sincerity. “An’ may I know what I can call ya?”  
  
“You can call me Kaji, Osamu-kun,” the older man beams.  
  
“Thank you, Kaji-san,” Keiji bows and the book shop keeper gestures towards the shelves deeper in the store.  
  
“Go ahead, Keiji-kun, you’ll know where to find me.”  
  
Osamu and Keiji walk ahead and when they’re out of earshot, Keiji begins, “Thank you, Miya-san, I didn’t-”

“Wanna hafta explain, I know,” Osamu continues for him. Keiji sends him a grateful look then his face suddenly shifts, a crease forming between his brows as he looks around, sweeping over the shop with eyes as if looking for something, someone.  
  
“What’s up?” Osamu asks.

Keiji blinks, taking in his surroundings as if he has just jolted awake from a dream. “I.. I think I just had deja vu, or it feels like it.”

Osamu almost chokes on his own breath and his heart starts to race. “Keiji?” He steps in front of the other man, pleading eyes boring into blue orbs. Osamu’s mind flips through all the possibilities. Is Keiji having a flashback of perusing through the rows of books? Is he recalling grazing his fingers over spines of stacked novels before picking one that piques his interest?  
  
“Did ya remember somethin’?” Osamu whispers, taking Keiji’s hands in his and holds his breath when Keiji doesn’t pull away. _Please, Keiji, please remember me._

“T-there’s something about the store,” Keiji says, eyes flitting around the area. “I’m trying but,” Keiji sighs and pulls his hands away. “Nothing.”

Osamu ignores the crippling disappointment clutching his heart and forces a smile. “One day at a time,” he repeats the second time that day.

Keiji doesn’t answer but stays close to Osamu, resuming his exploration. Osamu tries looking through books on his own but he resigns to watching Keiji when his gaze returns to him after too many times.

While crouched over, Keiji retrieves a novel and stands upright, showing off the title to Osamu. “This author still writes today?”

Osamu’s lips turn upwards at Keiji’s obvious delight and says, “Ya have that copy at home.”  
  
Keiji mouths an ‘oh’ and returns the paperback bashfully. He resumes his quest of browsing through the selection, pulling some out and peering at them intently. They move to another section and Osamu barely contains a laugh with Keiji subtly peeking at the romance titles, pretending to be interested in some architectural manual instead.  
  
“Keiji, yer married,” Osamu comments. He grabs a nearby copy with an illustration depicting two half-naked lovers. “Ya don’t hafta be shy if ya wanna look at these.”  
  
Keiji scowls but he drops the act. Despite his blush, Keiji moves past his husband and surveys the genre, feigning ignorance to the heat of Osamu’s body standing close behind him.

* * *

They exit the book shop with Keiji promising to visit soon and the rest of the afternoon flies as they stop by the antique shop, followed by the leather store, and finally the tea cafe.

Keiji huffs as they occupy the secluded area inside the cozy, dimly-lit room. His legs ache from hopping between the shops, amusing himself with the antique’s trinkets and the smoky, slightly sweet smell of leather. Osamu takes the seat right next to him and before he can ask Keiji what he’d like to drink, Keiji’s head snaps.  
  
“Wha- Did you hear that?”  
  
Osamu frowns, the cafe only hosts a few other customers and has been relatively noiseless when they walked in. “Hear what?”  
  
“Just now, a woman screamed,” Keiji whispers frantically.  
  
Osamu sweeps a worried gaze over the room, none of the other people seem alert or are looking their way, and slides closer to Keiji. “Keiji, no one screamed.”

He’s still sitting up, shoulders tense, and Osamu takes one of his hands before Keiji can start fiddling with his fingers. “Miya-san, I swear I didn’t imagine it.”  
  
Osamu is genuinely lost and he resorts to rubbing small circles on Keiji’s palm with his thumb.  
  
“C-can we go?” Keiji asks, still distraught.  
  
“Yea, sure, okay,” Osamu mumbles. Keiji hurries out of the cafe and Osamu stumbles after him, brows frowning in worry.  
  
They walk further along the street in silence. Osamu’s hand twitches to hold Keiji’s but he keeps it to himself, turning to Keiji instead. “Ya want water? We can drop by my shop and get a glass fer ya-”  
  
“No, Miya-san, I’m fine, thank you,” Keiji shakes his head. His lips are trembling ever so slightly and Osamu soldiers on.  
  
“What about a nap? I can call yer folks and ask them to push dinner a little later-”  
  
“No, I don’t want to go home just yet. Can we just.. walk? Please, Miya-san?” Keiji peers at him with dazed eyes.

Osamu nods, too distracted with replaying Keiji’s words of calling their apartment ‘home’.

Keiji smiles tentatively at Osamu’s compliance, exhaling deeply, and then his eyes widen with fear.  
  
The screech of tires invades his hearing, followed by the piercing sound of glass shattering.

Keiji ducks, tugging Osamu’s arm with him, when he hears a woman shriek. The ringing in his ear eventually goes away and uneven breaths steadily fall back into a rhythm. His head remains tucked under Osamu’s forearm when he opens disoriented eyes.

He’s still on the pavement with Osamu.

Osamu’s voice brings his focus back. “Keiji?” Osamu asks, pulling Keiji up with one arm as the other slides up Keiji’s nape, his hand stroking over the soft skin tenderly. “Keiji?”  
  
“W-what happened?” Keiji’s voice quivers, clutching onto Osamu’s shirt.  
  
Osamu angles Keiji so they face each other. Keiji doesn’t meet his gaze, looking across the street and to the sides, expression lost. “Keiji, look at me.”  
  
“Miya-san, the accident just now-”  
  
“Keiji, babe, there’s no accident,” Osamu whispers in concern.  
  
Keiji begins to look frustrated when the scene surrounding them doesn’t add up to what he just heard. Tourists continue snapping photos on their phones, a group of teenagers nearby erupt in laughter when one of them drops their boba tea, and Osamu continues caressing his nape softly.  
  
“But.. didn’t you hear? It sounded like a car lost control,” Keiji mumbles.  
  
Osamu swallows the lump in his throat. “Keiji, do ya think it was yer flashback?” he asks gently.  
  
There’s a pause where Keiji looks unsure but he shakes his head. “No, it couldn’t have been.”  
  
“But ya said ya heard an accident-”  
  
“I must be discombobulated from all the sounds, it’s busier here than it is at home.”  
  
“Keiji, it ain’t normal to hear screamin’ outta nowhere.”  
  
“I’m fine, Miya-san,” Keiji says with a firmer voice. “I would know if I had a flashback.”  
  
“So why did ya duck?” Osamu presses forward.  
  
“I don’t know,” Keiji mutters, looking away. Osamu lets go of Keiji’s neck and runs a hand through his hair. He doesn’t get the chance to interrogate him further because Keiji grabs his hand, sliding his fingers with Osamu’s, and asks, “Can you drive us around, Miya-san? I’d like to see more while there’s still light.”  
  
The gesture startles Osamu and he nods, dropping the subject for now. He doesn’t trust his voice to speak, not with Keiji initiating the contact and allowing Osamu to tighten his hold and close the gaps in their hands.

* * *

Osamu tries not to let his disappointment show when Keiji pulls his fingers free after they reach his car. Keiji wordlessly waits for Osamu to unlock the vehicle and they climb in, their silence almost deafening. Osamu drives out of the street and takes them closer to the shopping district, where Keiji could admire the picturesque view. A text notification pulls Osamu out of his trance and he asks Keiji to read it for him.  
  
“It’s okaasan. She says they’ll meet us at a yakiniku barbeque otoosan wants to try, unless we have other preferences?” Keiji announces, glancing at Osamu in question.  
  
“Fine by me. Ya got anythin’ else in mind ya wanna eat?”  
  
Keiji shakes his head, and Osamu gives the passcode to unlock his phone. After sending an affirmative response to his mother, Keiji hands it back to Osamu.  
  
“Didja like the book shop?” Osamu casually asks.

Keiji smiles shyly. “Indeed, I enjoyed my time there. Thank you, Miya-san.”  
  
“They like ya, all those people,” Osamu informs him, referring to the people working in Keiji’s favorite stores.  
  
“I wish I could remember them,” Keiji shares somberly.  
  
They ride in silence until Osamu makes a sharp turn and Keiji’s hand darts out to grab Osamu’s bicep. Osamu’s eyes widen, he hasn’t missed the way Keiji would ogle him when he thinks Osamu isn’t looking and he’s just about to tease his husband when he sees the expression on Keiji’s face.  
  
“Stop the car.”  
  
“Keiji, what-”  
  
“Miya-san, please, stop the car!”  
  
Osamu frantically parks by the sidewalk and Keiji is out of the vehicle within seconds. Osamu pulls the break and clambers after him. Keiji’s breathing sporadically, taking short gulps of air like he’s forcing his body into breathing underwater. As soon as he holds Keiji’s arm, the other man ducks.

_“Keiji, they’re workin’ ya to yer grave!”_

_“CALL AN AMBULANCE!”_ _  
__  
__“You just don’t understand, Osamu, my job isn’t like yours-”_

 _“NO! WAIT FOR THE MEDICS! DON’T MOVE HIM!”_ _  
__  
__“It’s keepin’ ya from what ya really want! Fuck, Keiji! Why can’t ya see that?”_ _  
_

 _“Sir? Can you hear me? Did someone dial 119 yet?”_ _  
__  
__“You’re not listening to me at all!”_ _  
__  
__“Cause it’s makin’ ya miserable!_ _  
__  
__“I can’t believe I married you.”_ _  
__  
__A door slams shut._ _  
__  
__Shattered glass is swept by rushing feet._ _  
__  
__“Wait, Keiji-”_ _  
__  
__“Osamu.”_  
  
“Osamu-”  
  
“I’m here.”  
  
The screaming fades, and Osamu’s voice is clearer, closer. “I’m here, Keiji.”  
  
When Keiji opens his eyes, he finds his cheek pressed to Osamu’s collarbone and his glasses lopsided, hanging loosely from one ear. Osamu pries it off of him gently and Keiji buries his face into Osamu’s neck. His senses return slowly and he becomes aware of his arms around Osamu, the faint thud of their hearts beating, his harsh breaths tickling the exposed patch of skin on Osamu’s clavicle.  
  
“What is happening?” Keiji sobs.  
  
Osamu holds him closer without concern for onlookers side-eyeing them. “Keiji, I think ya had yer flashback of the accident.”  
  
Keiji’s still shaking but he nods anyway, conceding his previous assessment. “I think you’re right,” he whispers. The hand rubbing up and down his back pauses when Keiji speaks again. “I remember.. I saw it happen. Th-the screaming woman, the horn blaring-” Keiji closes his eyes to visit the scene again and opens them in a split second, looking sick.  
  
“Just breathe, baby,” Osamu coddles, turning both of them to block other pedestrians from eyeing Keiji. He wishes he had asked Doctor Nakamura about this, about the proper procedure for handling trauma like this. He feels foolish having begged practically every entity he could think of for Keiji’s memories to return without thinking about _this_ particular one. It clearly terrorizes Keiji and Osamu wishes he could reach inside his head to rip it out and away from Keiji. “Ya don’t have to talk about it if it upsets ya.”  
  
“There’s something else..”  
  
“Keiji,” Osamu whispers in a gentle warning. _Don’t do this to yourself._

“Just before the screaming, I felt like I needed to find you. Like I _had_ to or else..” Keiji breaks off and leans away slightly. Osamu’s motionless as he watches the tears gather in Keiji’s eyes. “Miya-san, I think the last thing I remember, the last thing I thought about before the crash - was you.”  
  
It’s one thing to answer your phone in the morning and have a stranger yell at you that your husband’s been in an accident. It’s another to finally hear Keiji’s perspective and see the horror reflecting in his husband’s eyes.  
  
Osamu clings onto a key declaration - that Keiji remembers an urge to find him.  
  
“Ya said ya needed to find me?” Osamu asks with no small amount of hope.  
  
“Yes, Miya-san, because-” and Keiji looks up in shock, a teardrop falling freely down his pale face. “Because we fought.”  
  
Osamu’s heart sinks and he leans his forehead on Keiji’s temple. Before he can prod for more information, they’re interrupted by an officer asking them to move the car.  
  
“My apologies fer the inconvenience we caused,” Osamu says, bowing right away and ushering Keiji back in. When they’re inside, Osamu hands him his glasses and asks, “Are ya okay stayin’ in the car? I just gotta move it and if yer not comfortable-”  
  
“It’s fine, Miya-san,” Keiji whispers with his head hunched over, sliding the black frames back on.  
  
Osamu drives slowly towards the direction of the restaurant and after a while, he asks, “What do ya remember about the fight?”  
  
Keiji closes his eyes, bright specks of light forming jagged glass and doors shutting close behind his eyelids. “Something about my job and telling you.. that I can’t believe I married you.” On his peripheral vision, he catches Osamu’s lip tremble and the realization sinks in with a small gasp. “Miya-san, was that the last thing I said to you before the accident?”

Osamu doesn’t look his way and his grip on the wheel tightens. “Yea,” he whispers sadly, but not angrily.  
  
Keiji remembers a crushing sense of regret from the flashback and now he doesn’t wonder why he felt that way. He genuinely thought he wouldn’t see Osamu again and had the urge to replace his final words with something else, something that wouldn’t hurt Osamu.  
  
He imagines Osamu watching him motionless in the coma, with no indication of whether he would wake or not. _He was begging you to come back to him_ , he remembers his okaasan telling him. He imagines how Osamu must have felt when he woke up and told Osamu he doesn’t love him.  
  
 _Osamu’s Keiji_ surfaces in a wave of fury, filled with protectiveness and empathy for Osamu.  
  
“I’m so sorry,” Keiji whispers into the air.  
  
“Don’t be,” Osamu replies. “That was on both of us.”  
  
Keiji slumps back on his seat. “What happened?”  
  
Osamu sighs. “Let’s just say I ain’t the biggest fan of yer department. They don’t deserve ya an’ they’ve been demandin’ so much of yer time. It kept us from cookin’ together, or havin’ sex, and the stress got to us.”  
  
Keiji wills away the blush surging at the mention of them having sex. Instead, he asks in a small voice, “Were we unhappy?”  
  
“No, Keiji,” Osamu reassures him, glancing at him quickly. “We don’t fight like that, it’s why that mornin’ was a slap to us both.”  
  
“But I remember walking out-”  
  
“Because ya had to go to work, and I was supposed to drive for ya. I should have,” Osamu grimly adds. “Keiji, 'Tsumu and I grew up learnin’ how to resolve shit by beating each other up. I ain’t gonna do that with my husband and ya taught me how ta use my words. We were always gonna talk it out, or fuck and then talk it out. We were fine. We _are_ fine.”

Keiji remains quiet. He wishes they were back on the sidewalk so he could hug Osamu, let him know how much he regrets his last words. He continues to blink in rapid succession, as if he’s pushing away images that keep springing in his head.

Osamu watches him from the corner of his eye. He wishes he could say something to comfort Keiji, his own heart bruised with the knowledge that Keiji must be replaying the regret and agony of the accident over and over in his mind.  
  
They arrive at the restaurant and they step out into the cool night air after Osamu parks. Osamu tugs Keiji’s hand right before they reach the entrance and pulls him aside.  
  
“Miya-san?”  
  
“Are ya okay?” Osamu asks.  
  
Keiji chooses his next words carefully. “I’ll be better.”  
  
Osamu frowns. “Ya sure?”  
  
Keiji nods reassuringly and makes his way back to the entrance without letting go of Osamu’s hand.  
  
They find Keiko and Benjiro easily, with Benjiro already busy grilling different slabs of meat. The area is crowded, steam coming from different directions, but luckily the table they reserved has less traffic from the diners and workers.

Keiko beams at them as they draw closer, nudging Benjiro’s arm discreetly when she eyes their clasped hands. The gesture isn’t lost on Benjiro, grinning knowingly and Keiji almost wants to pull his hand away in embarrassment.  
  
“Sit down boys, sit down!” Benjiro greets them. “Sorry we started without you, the Kobe beef is something else, huh?”  
  
“Otoosan, okaasan,” Osamu responds with a slight bow, reluctantly letting go of Keiji’s hand as they sit.  
  
“We understand, otoosan, we are tardy after all,” Keiji acknowledges.

“Were you enjoying your day?” Keiko asks like they’re suddenly sharing secrets.

“We had lunch in Onigiri Miya,” Keiji answers sheepishly. “We also visited the nearby stores on the street.”  
  
“And how were the rice balls?” Benjiro says with a smug grin, picking up cooked pieces of meat with the tongs and piling them up on Keiji’s and Osamu’s plates.  
  
“They are very good,” Keiji easily says. Osamu’s just about to brush Keiji’s knee with his, flattered with his husband’s words, but Keiji quickly changes the subject. “And how was your day, otoosan and okaasan?”  
  
Osamu’s jaw clenches and he hides his displeasure with the guise of digging into the barbeque after a long day. He sees right through Keiji’s act and knows his husband has no intention of mentioning that their day was actually a date and more importantly, that he’d been remembering the accident throughout the afternoon. He decides to let it go, too hungry to process why Keiji would feel the need to pretend as if nothing happened.  
  
They’re nearly done with their dinner when Keiko announces, “Keiji, Osamu, your otoosan and I will take the shinkansen back to Tokyo tomorrow morning.”

Keiji gasps and sets the glass of water in his hand back down on the table. “But okaasan-”  
  
“Keiji, we know you’re safe now. Your husband will take care of you, right Osamu?” Keiko addresses Osamu with a smile.  
  
“I always do, okaasan,” Osamu says with a firm nod. They refuse Osamu’s offer to pay for the dinner and Osamu only relinquishes it when they agree to let Osamu drive them back to the hotel.

* * *

“We’ll see you soon, Keiji-chan,” Keiko says, kissing Keiji’s cheek as they stand outside the hotel.

“You can always call,” Benjiro adds. “And come visit us! Been too long since you two were in Tokyo!”  
  
“We will, otoosan,” Osamu responds, accepting a hug from Benjiro. His father-in-law turns to Keiji, bringing him in for his own hug. “I’ll miss you.”  
  
“I’ll miss you too, otoosan,” Keiji hugs Benjiro back, his arms gripping around his father tight.  
  
Osamu crouches over when Keiko gives him his kiss on the cheek. “Take care of each other, okay Osamu?” Keiko whispers.  
  
Osamu whispers back, “I promise, okaasan.”  
  
Keiji and Osamu watch the other couple disappear into the lobby, silent when they eventually return to Osamu’s car. Keiji already feels lonely, he hadn’t expected his parents to leave him so soon. Osamu, on the other hand, breathes in the chilly air, hoping it cools him off before he confronts Keiji.

* * *

Once seated in the vehicle, Osamu starts the engine but doesn’t unlock the brakes. He fixes Keiji with a stony glare and Keiji answers back with a raised eyebrow.  
  
“Why didn’t ya say anythin’ about yer flashback?” Osamu questions.

“Because I didn’t want to, Miya-san. Now will you drive us home, please?”  
  
“You should have told them.”  
  
“I said I didn’t want to.”  
  
“Why?” Osamu asks, exasperated.  
  
“I don’t want them to worry. They don’t need the stress-”  
  
“Keiji, they’re yer parents. They’ll wanna know these things.”

“It’s not very serious-”  
  
“Ya know it is, Keiji,” Osamu argues. “If ya want it this way, fine. Don’t tell them. But ya gotta see Doctor Nakamura _and_ ,” he emphasizes when Keiji opens his mouth, “Ya gotta tell me.”  
  
Keiji looks like he’ll protest again and Osamu pleads, “Keiji, please. I know how ya close off when ya deal with things and I don’t know what I’ll do if-” he stops, the events of the day catching up to him and Osamu sighs. “Just don’t cut me out, okay?”  
  
Keiji studies him for a moment before his shoulders drop. “Okay.”

They arrive home after a relatively peaceful drive and Osamu asks if he can shower first. While waiting, Keiji pulls his phone out and scrolls through the plethora of messages. He perks up at a familiar name and opens his thread with Kenma. He’s just about to send a reply when Osamu finds him in the living room, wearing a pair of sweat shorts and nothing else.  
  
Keiji averts his gaze to Osamu’s amusement and hurries to take his turn in the shower.

When he steps out in more modest clothing, he finds Osamu waiting by the door in their room.  
  
“Yes, Miya-san?”

Osamu shrugs. “We haven’t officially ended our date.”  
  
Before he can ask what Osamu means, the other man pushes off the doorframe and walks over to Keiji. Osamu brings a hand up, stroking Keiji’s jaw delicately with his eyes shooting a silent question. Keiji nods once, enthralled with the stillness of the moment, and Osamu leans in to brush his lips on Keiji’s cheek.

Osamu leans away after a moment, smiling as he says, “Goodnight, Keiji.”

Keiji watches Osamu exit the room, unable to form his own response, and listens to the soft thud of the door shutting close.

Fingers graze where Osamu had just kissed him and Keiji surprises himself when he realizes how he aches to feel that warmth again.


End file.
